Andraste's Unchosen
by Tk137
Summary: With the Inquisition disbanded, Brady Trevelyan continues to cope with the fate of the world upon his shoulders. However, when his past begins to darken his future, Brady must fight his way back into the light.
1. Prologue

Brady took a breath as he reached the doors of the Divine's main chamber. He pressed his hand against the cool door that creaked and echoed through the empty hall. He poked his head in and saw Cassandra at her grand mahogany desk. The towers of parchment and dusty books stacked on its surface only allowed the sight of her eyes and her righteous holy headwear.

He let himself in. "You asked for me?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," She raised her eyes to his. "Please take a seat."

He narrowed his eyes and took a seat in front of her desk, pushing a stack of books to the far side of the surface to expose Cassandra's entire face. She was expressionless as her eyes dug holes into Brady. He cocked his head and smiled, "Why the formality?"

She handed him a piece of parchment. He cocked an eyebrow and began to read:

 _Most Holy Divine Victoria,_

 _It has come our attention that a controversial decision has been made on behalf of the Chantry._

Brady's face hardened. He clenched his jaw and continued:

 _The Inclusion of the former Inquisitor in the Chantry's ranks has sparked protests in our most faithful followers. The unrest has spread through many regions across Thedas. Before the situation becomes problematic, we request the removal of the party in question with a public denouncement to quell the flames._

 _Of course, your word will be final in this matter should you reject. However, we advise the consideration of our request and respectfully wish a quick decision to be issued._

The names of numerous Grand Clerics were scrawled at the bottom of the page and produced enough ink for the tan parchment to disappear underneath. Brady placed the letter back onto the desk and tilted his head back, dispelling a heavy cloud from his chest.

"Are you going to deny the request?" Brady said.

Cassandra swallowed and deflated against her chair. "This has been one of the toughest decisions I have made."

He scoffed. "After everything I've done-"

"Brady-"

"It's shit, and you know it!"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I must appease their wishes."

His jaw clenched. His icy blue eyes stared down the Divine. A flame ignited behind his eyes and burned until they became smoldering ash. "I can't believe this," he shook his head.

Cassandra leaned her elbows against the desk. The sleeves of her holy robe hung as she rested her head against her hands. "Do you know what the people are calling you?"

He waved her off. "I am well aware, thank you."

"The people are calling for an explanation- one I cannot provide without ruining our resistance against Solas," She paused. "You do not deserve this. You deserve none of it." She sighed. "You have one more burden to bare and it will be over."

"This has taken everything from me! I won't lose another damn thing," he snarled.

"You are being sent back to Ostwick with your family, and that is final." She decreed, her face stoic and carved from stone. "Templars are collecting your things from your quarters as we speak. There will be a caravan for you shortly."

His chair almost crashed to the floor when he stood. He towered over her with clenched teeth. "Anything else, Most Holy?"

Cassandra's face fell, "Brady…"

"Anything else?" He stabbed.

She shot up and approached him. Her hands rested on his shoulders. Her eyes reflected in his. "Brady, listen to me. I expect your anger, but I also expect you to understand."

He nodded.

"Leliana must stay," Her voice wavered. "She cannot have any ties to you any longer."

His top lip shook and curled. "No."

She gripped his shoulders. "Leliana is pivotal to our resistance. If you continue your relationship, the negativity will shift to her. If you convince her to leave- it will be detrimental to the world as we know it," She released her grip on his shoulders and took a step back. "Be angry, Brady. It is your Maker-given right. But if you will not do this for me, do it for her. She will be better because of it."

He stared through Cassandra. He felt like a sword thrusted through his body and twisted. When his refocused, he saw the truth in her eyes. He shook his head and groaned. He walked through the chamber doors and into the hallway. Two Templars followed behind him and flanked his sides. Their hands gripped their weapons.

"Is this really necessary?" Brady protested.

The Templar on his left spoke, "I apologize, ser. Knight-Commander's orders."

"You're a bloody hero in my book, Inquisitor. Damn what they've been saying about you. Nobody could have done what you did," The Templar on his right said.

"Do either of you know where Lady Leliana is?" Brady asked.

"In the rose garden, your worship- ah- ser." The left Templar confirmed.

Brady nodded and walked towards the garden. His head felt cloudy- his body stumbled through a fog that engulfed the world around him. They reached the glass framed doors that allowed the Orlesian sun to soak the hall. Brady asked the Templars for a moment of privacy- and after a short protest- they agreed.

Brady walked out to the garden. His eyes scanned for Leliana while he paced across the extravagant rows of rose bushes. They reached for the scarred, cloudless sky with their thorns reached for him.

He found Leliana knelt down and tending to a wounded rose bush. She wore a loose white tunic with tan trousers and a pair of almond boots that came up to her calf. She leaned over, clipping withered roses. Her Andrastian charm chimed with the breeze.

"Leliana…" His voice escaped him with a short breath.

She looked up and smiled. "Ah, there you are!" Her voice rung across the garden like a sweet song.

She dusted her knees off and walked into his arms. She embraced him with a tight squeeze, pressing her cheek against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and sighed. Her familiar scent of candy floss flooded his senses. He breathed her in, resting his head atop of hers for a moment.

She pulled away and brought her ocean eyes up to his. Her brows knitted together. "Brady Trevelyan, what has gotten in to you?"

His head fell. He took her hand into his and exhaled. "Leliana... We- we have to talk."

She slipped her hand away, "About?" She stepped back. "What is going on?"

He paused and looked into the blue Orlesian sky. He bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head. She stood in front of him with eager eyes that flooded with worry. He could not bear to look at her. He glanced at the tangled rose bushes. He felt tangled in the branches, their thorns pricking against every inch of his skin, constricting and curling around his throat until he could not breathe.

"I can't- I can't…" Brady mumbled. "Maker, I can't do this."

"You're scaring me," Leliana murmured. "What is it?"

Brady forced his eyes on her. He mourned the soft angles of her face, her bright eyes on drowsy mornings, her voice and how sweet it sounded when she spoke about anything, the gentle curves of a smile against her lips and how they felt pressed against his. This was it. The image of her face wracked with worry and attempting to decode the thoughts in his head, burnt into his mind forever.

His face hardened to stone. "I can't do this anymore. You deserve to be with someone who you can be proud of, someone you can spend the rest of your life with knowing they can give you everything you've ever wanted," He took a sharp breath, dropping his eyes away from hers. "I used to think that I could do that for you. Things have changed. I am not the man you fell in love with- not anymore."

Leliana stiffened. Her eyes drooped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying-," He looked to the sky, hoping the Maker himself would send a bolt of lightning and strike him down where he stood. He continued, "I'm saying it's over, Leliana. I am so sorry."

She nodded and brought her hand to her lips. He noticed the tears in her eyes began to well and her determination to not let a single tear fall in his presence. She took a breath and stared into his eyes. She choked out, "You are right, Brady. You are not the man I fell in love with."

He clenched his jaw and turned his eyes away from her.

She bit down on her bottom lip and shook her head. "The man I fell in love with would think of a better excuse than that," She said and turned her back on him.

"I'm going back home to Ostwick," He explained. "You won't have to see me anymore."

She knelt back down to the rose bush and wiped her nose with her hand. "Then what are you waiting for?"

He bowed his head and returned to the hall. The Templars waited for him by the glass doors. Brady did not speak a word. He allowed the Templars to lead him to his things that were stacked outside of his quarters. Upon the heap of luggage was a small, red velvet box. The Templars began to reach for his things, but he raised his hand, and they stood still. He reached for the box. It sat in the palm of his hand, delicate and bright. His thumb popped the box open, exposing the silverite band encrusted with shimmering diamonds that bloomed like a rose towards the sky. He made a fist around the box and slammed it shut, creating a rippled echo down the vacant hall.

"Ser Trevelyan, your caravan is here." A Templar informed Brady.

He sighed. "Very well, get me out of here."

Brady looked towards his unknown future as he exited the Grand Cathedral. He sighed. He felt his skin stretch itself thin, unable to shield him from the bitter reality of his true form. His mind raced, attempting to cope with the shattered identity he convinced himself was real. He was no longer a hero- no longer an inspiration or a symbol of faith. He was a nightmare people wished to forget; a mangled, walking memory of a sky asunder and the sins of man. He was sacrilege. He was unchosen.

* * *

Leliana stormed through the halls of the Grand Cathedral and rushed into her quarters. She stopped in the doorway and examined the open drawers that were picked apart and emptied. A gasp escaped as her chest tightened. She waded through the room and sat upon the bed. Her hand ran across the sheet. She focused on the softness of the satin that tickled her fingertips.

Her mind jumped to Brady's body entangled in hers as his warmth electrified the sheets. She remembered the way his lips pouted as he slept and the way his chest rose steadily as her head rested upon him, watching the Orlesian sun flood the room in the early hours of the morning.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind raced through reasons why Brady left her alone with the world on the brink of falling apart, and she came up with nothing. She believed they were perfect, even though Thedas rested its future on their shoulders once again. Whatever thrown at them, they were in it together. Their strength could overcome any obstacle, or she believed.

She knew him better than anyone. Brady was not the type of man to give up on anything so easily. Something was wrong or something went wrong, she reasoned. Though, love was always her blind spot. She could never see Marjolaine's true nature, nor her intentions.

 _No,_ Leliana thought, _He is nothing like her._

A knock on the ajar door creaked it open.

"Leliana?" Cullen murmured. His eyes scanned the room, "Maker, were you robbed by a lay sister?"

"He left."

"What-?"

"Brady… he's gone."

"Gone?" Cullen's forehead wrinkled. "Why was I not informed?" He examined the empty drawers and sighed. He sat next to Leliana on the bed and stared at the threshold. He glanced over to Leliana. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

She scoffed and stood up. She turned to Cullen, her face blank as she crossed her arms. "Do you come with orders?"

"Leliana…" Cullen rose from the bed.

She stiffened and craned her nose, "Orders, Commander?" Her eyes dropped to the floor. "If you have none, I wish to be alone."

He sighed as his shoulders deflated. "The divine sent for us. It sounded important."

"Very well," Leliana faced the door. "Maybe she has an explanation for me."

Leliana rushed out of the room and down the intersecting hallways. Cullen struggled behind her. Leliana reached the throne room and swung the heavy doors wide open. She approached the Divine perched on the sunburst throne. Cullen broke into a jog and stood by Leliana's side.

"Leliana," Cassandra greeted, "And Cullen. Thank you for your haste."

Leliana scowled and crossed her arms, "Why did Brady leave the Grand Cathedral?"

Cassandra shifted in her seat. She looked at the Templars flanking the room and nodded. "Leave us," she commanded.

Cullen watched the Templars file out and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He wouldn't just leave our cause," Leliana continued.

Cassandra fell against her throne, "He left willingly."

Leliana rolled her eyes, "Please, Cassandra. Do not lie to me."

"I'm with Leliana," Cullen spoke up. "What's going on?"

Cassandra knotted her fingers on her lap. "He had dismiss himself from the chantry for his own safety," Cassandra craned her neck, "And for yours."

Leliana's arms fell to her side. "Forgive me, but that is ridiculous."

"For his own safety?" Cullen questioned. "Brady can handle himself in a fight, I can vouch for that."

Cassandra scrunched her brows, "Can he fight public opinion?"

"What?" Cullen said.

Cassandra took a deep breath, "The people are afraid of him," She straightened. "It is near impossible not to hear what the faithful have been saying."

Leliana stepped forward, "So you cast him out?" she argued.

Cullen shook his head, "This is… wrong. Cassandra, he's our friend."

Cassandra's face dropped. A frown emerged. "I do not have the luxury of friendship in my position." Her eyes beamed at Leliana, "You of all people should understand that."

Leliana scoffed, "The world is a lonely place without friends, even for the Divine."

"We have issues larger than this," Cassandra evaded. "So if you wish to continue our mission against Solas, then I'll tell you our next step." She settled in her seat. "If not, I cannot force you to stay."

Leliana thought for a moment; her eyes prodded Cassandra's stoic expression. Leliana shook her head. "What is it?"

"I cannot disclose this unless you are completely invested," Cassandra warned.

Leliana nodded, "I will complete your task, Cassandra." Her eyes hardened on The Divine. "When it's completed, consider it my resignation."

Leliana exited, leaving Cassandra with a lingering protest on her tongue. Cullen called her name as she proceeded down the hall.

"What?" Leliana stressed.

He approached with haste and hushed his voice. "Don't you think you're being too rash?"

Leliana's lips pressed into a thin line. She avoided his gaze.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and captured her eyes. "When we chose this path, we chose to be something bigger than ourselves. We chose to protect the faithful, despite what we wanted for ourselves."

She exhaled, "My whole life I have had to put something else in front of myself. When is it enough?"

Cullen slipped his hand off her shoulder. "All we have in the end is our choices. We must learn to accept them… or spend the rest of our lives regretting them."

"I am choosing, Cullen," Leliana declared. "I'm choosing- for once- myself."


	2. Family Matters and Blood Splatter

Brady staggered into a stone pillar. He leaned his left shoulder against it and exhaled. His breath released a puff of grey into the night. He took the last swig from his bottle of whiskey and threw it across the courtyard.

His face burned. He pressed his face against the cool pillar. It soothed him enough to catch his breath as the liquor burned down his throat.

He pushed his hand against the stone and forced his body upright. He stumbled towards the towering doors and entered the building.

Inside, candlelight lit the aisle. The pews were vacant and stared at the statue of Andraste that sat perched at the far side of the chantry. He moved like a ghost down the aisle and fell to his knees at the altar.

He looked up at Andraste as she looked back. Her unblinking eyes tore him apart. There was no love in her eyes; none of her protection against the demons that possessed his mind. He felt her absence. He knew she didn't care for his prayers, and why would she? The Maker's love vanished from him. Hope and Faith had been lost to the yearning left at the bottom of a bottle.

"It's been awhile," Brady said. "But I hope you can hear me, wherever you are." He dropped his head. "I need guidance… I need you. I'm lost. I don't know where the light went, but it's gone. I need something- a sign, anything- that just tells me you're watching over me. I've tried- Maker, I've tried- living by your words. You were there when I lost my mother, when I led the Inquisition in your name… but now? Where are you? Have you forsaken me?"

He held his head in his hand and sobbed, "Maker, why have you forsaken me?"

"Tell me if He answers," The Revered Mother said, approaching Brady.

He directed his eyes at her. "Your Reverence," He wiped his nose. "I… I am sorry."

She rested her hand on his shoulder. "Do not apologize, child. You are justified in your questions. Though, you are not His victim," She looked at Andraste. "You are a victim of the sins of man."

He scoffed, "Is there a difference?"

"Of course, my boy," She chuckled. "You may not see it now, but The Maker has not turned his back on you."

"Then where is He? Why do I feel so… alone?"

"The Maker gives the greatest challenges to those He believes will overcome them," She squeezed his shoulder and smiled, "The Dawn will come, child."

Brady stood up, "Forgive me, but I've heard that one before."

"You brought peace upon Thedas. Now, you must bring peace upon yourself," The Revered Mother said.

The chantry doors opened and redirected their attention. A slender figure waltzed down the aisle. Brady winced. He knew it was his sister, Grace, coming to bring him back to the estate.

Grace was a year older than Brady, and never let him forget that. Brady and Grace were often mistaken for twins, as their eyes were both a cold blue and their hair was the same dirty blonde color their father had possessed in his youth.

"I knew I'd find you here," Grace boasted.

"Lady Grace," The Revered Mother greeted. "Your brother and I were just discussing-"

Grace reached the altar and waved her hand in front of her nose, "Brady Maxwell Trevelyan, you smell like a brewery!"

Brady dropped his head, "Grace…"

"I apologize, Your Reverence," Grace said, "He's not been himself the past few months."

The Revered Mother waved her hands, "No apologies needed. It is never too late for the faithful to seek guidance."

"Thank you for watching him," Grace bowed. "I must get him home at once."

Brady nodded, "I'll think on your words, your reverence."

Grace rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm, "Hopefully you remember them in the morning. Now, come."

Grace led Brady out of the Chantry and carried him into the carriage. She signaled the coachman to proceed.

Brady swayed in his seat. The smell of Grace's perfume overflowed in the closed canvas of the carriage and sent his world spinning into a nauseous frenzy. He held a fist to his lips and closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the softness of his bed and the flask he had stashed underneath the mattress.

Brady opened his eyes and saw Grace watching him. He could see the worry on her face and the disappointment the sight of him brought. He frowned. If there was one person he had in his life that he could rely on, it was Grace. His heart fell to his stomach when he saw her full of sorrow rather than pride in his presence.

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, the lump in his throat swelled with every syllable.

Grace's eyes welled. She pressed her hand against his face gently, "You are my baby brother. You are the bravest man I know and I love you. But how you have been behaving…" A single tear escaped her eyes. "This is not you, Brady. You are better than this."

The carriage halted. The coachman announced their arrival. Guards waited outside of the carriage. He stepped out of the carriage and almost fell to his knees. The guards caught him and hoisted him around their shoulders.

Grace followed behind, "Take him to his bedroom. And please, avoid mother and father."

Brady looked over a guards shoulder and watched Grace wipe tiny tears off of her face. He sighed. Another apology lingered on his lips, but he couldn't bring himself to utter it to her. He could apologize until his lungs were void of air, but it wouldn't change anything.

He shuddered as a thought crossed his mind: What if the man who led the Inquisition was dead, and now, he must live with the pieces the past left behind?

* * *

Brady awoke with the unwelcomed sun pouring its light into his bedroom. He grunted at the pounding in his head. He lifted his blanket and threw it across the bed. Bottles of liquor fell off the mattress and clanked against the collection of empty bottles on the stone floor.

He relieved himself of the booze stained shirt he wore to bed and took careful precautions not to discard the silver chained necklace that housed a diamond encrusted silverite ring.

He rolled out of bed and walked over to his window to draw the shades. He rummaged through his drawers to find something to wear to breakfast. As he began to dress, he could hear the voices of his father and his wife bickering in the hall.

"Leave the boy alone, Mira," He heard his father say.

Lady Mira's voice was grating. "Silas, do you not see this is becoming a problem?"

"Mira…" Silas sighed.

Brady interrupted them and opened his bedroom door dressed only in his undergarments. He received their surprised eyes and smiled.

"Father. Lady Mira," Brady greeted.

Lady Mira huffed with a sneer slipped on her lips. The light wrinkles on her face grew with her frown. She looked to Silas with crossed arms and her hip pointed away from Brady.

Silas sighed, "Son…"

"Yes, father?"

"Mira believes that your activities are beginning to reflect rather poorly on this family, and I agree," Silas said. "Perhaps it is time for you to do something other than drown yourself in drink."

Brady narrowed his eyes at Lady Mira. "What could I possibly do?"

"For once," She stressed. "Act like a Trevelyan."

He hung his head and nodded. Mira, for as long as he could remember, could press on all the right nerves. However, he knew he would meet her wishes; Not for her, but for his family. His father loved her, his siblings adored her, and all the nobles saw her as a prime matriarch and the epitome of what an Ostwick woman should be. And that she was, he could not deny it.

For the first time in a long time, he could not hide behind his past glory and simply expect the rest of his family to look past his contrast to the man they expected to return from the Inquisition.

"Very well, Lady Mira."

Silas smiled at Brady, nodding with approval. "There you go, boy."

Lady Mira watched Silas disappear down the corridor and turned her sage green eyes' attention to Brady. His eyes narrowed as a terrible smile peeked against her cheeks.

She sucked on her teeth. "Better men and women than you died at that conclave. Do The Maker a favor and at least try to pretend you are happy to be alive."

He clenched his jaw and shook his head violently. "Do not preach to me, Lady Mira."

She crossed her arms. "You keep this up and what people think you are is exactly what you will become."

"And what do people think I am?"

" _Andraste's Unchosen_. And by the Maker, are you proving them right… Gallivanting around the city like a drunkard night after night."

He was taken back, his eyes connected with the phantom hand that disappeared far too long ago. He stood silent in front of Lady Mira as his mouth grew dry.

"If you will not do it for me, or your father," She placed a single hand on his shoulder. "Do it for your mother. If she were to see you like this, she would be turning in her grave."

His sky blue eyes lost their edge when they had connected with hers. Her eyes were soft upon looking at him. "I will think on your words, Lady Mira. Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Brady. I am just saying the things your father is too scared to tell you. Now," She flicked her wrist with a violent wave, "Go get yourself cleaned up, I have grown tired of your hermit looking appearance. Perhaps you might catch the eye of an Ostwick woman, who knows?"

He scoffed and shut the door. He walked towards the mirror and chuckled. He looked like a complete stranger to himself. Brady's dirty blonde hair reached his shoulders and sported a ragged beard that could rival any dwarf. He ran his hand against his jaw and watched the light blond whiskers deflate to his touch.

A small knock brushed his door.

Brady yelled, "Mira, I told you I would take care of it."

"It's me. Please open up," Grace pleaded.

Brady sighed with relief and opened the door for his sister. She stood in the doorway- timid with a small smile brushed over her lips.

"Grace… Do you need something?" Brady asked.

She let herself into his room. "That was unfair… what mother said." She said.

He closed his door behind her. "She's always been like that. I'm used to it."

Grace chuckled. "I know, but that doesn't make it any better," she paused. "I just wanted to see if you recovered from last night."

Brady ran his hand through his hair. "I've fought worse things than a hangover."

She smiled, "I know you don't want to talk to about it now… But one day, I want to hear about your adventures with the Inquisition. All of them." She kicked the liquor bottles out of her way and sat on his bed. "For now, just tell me how I can help you."

He scratched the back of his neck. "How good are you at cutting hair?"

* * *

Brady stared at his reflection in his washroom. Grace was no barber, but she managed to crop his blonde hair into a short crew cut. He had shaved his beard. The scar on his chin was prominent in the absence of any stubble.

He heard the chime of the dinner bell. He sighed and went to the dining room.

Lady Mira, Silas, and Grace were seated at the decorated table. Brady sat across from Grace and shot her a small smile. The kitchen staff placed their meals in front of them.

Everyone ate in silence. Brady huffed as a server cut his food for him. Brady nodded and thanked the server.

Lady Mira brought her eyes to Brady, "I see you heeded my words. You are much more handsome without all the mange."

"You can thank Grace," He ran his hand over the short hairs on his head. "She did most of the work."

"I would have done better if you hadn't squirmed so much," Grace chuckled.

Silas cleared his throat, "Now you're finally presentable for Grace's wedding."

"Wedding?" Brady questioned. His eyes darted to Grace. She stared down at her plate. "What wedding?"

"Well, none as of yet," Silas explained. "Grace is getting to that age, Brady."

"She's almost old enough to be considered a spinster," Lady Mira added. "We have delayed this long enough."

"The King of Ferelden is still unwed," Silas cocked a brow.

"And the Viscount of Kirkwall is rumored to be single," Lady Mira added, "Aren't you two good friends? Perhaps you could put a good word in."

Brady scoffed, "I will do no such thing." He addressed Grace, "Is this what you want?"

She looked up from her plate and sighed, "Brady…"

"Grace, is this what you want?" Brady repeated, his voice sharp like a blade.

"What she wants does not matter," Lady Mira said. She straightened in her seat. "We all have a duty to this family and Grace must-,"

Brady slammed his hand on the table, "She must do nothing-"

"That is quite enough, Brady!" Silas bellowed.

"My sister will _not_ be subjected to an arranged marriage," Brady argued. "She will find her own love with someone of her own choosing."

"We do not all live in your fantasy world, Brady," Lady Mira hissed, "Some of us have responsibilities that must be attended to."

Brady curled his upper lip and snarled, "Responsibilities? You plan to use her as a political pawn!"

"I said enough!" Silas shouted.

Brady leaned over the table towards Grace, "You do not have to do anything you don't want to… not as I still draw breath."

Silas dropped his fork on his plate. The echo vibrated through the dining room. He pointed towards the door. "Get out."

Brady pushed out his chair and stood up.

"Father, please!" Grace pleaded.

"Now." Silas ordered.

Brady took a final look at his father and stormed out of the dining room. The servants stopped and stared at him as he passed. Grace followed and grabbed his arm before he reached the main doors.

He turned and saw her reddened eyes. His face softened. He took a deep breath.

"Father is just angry. He didn't mean it," Grace said. "Don't leave."

He pulled on a small smile and wrapped her into a hug. "No, he did. It's alright. I have to get out of here until he calms down… hopefully you're not betrothed by the time I get back."

She pulled away. "You can't leave. I just got you back, dammit."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, "I won't leave, I promise." He slipped his hand off her shoulder and cracked open the main doors. "I love you, sister."

He shut the door and walked in the moonlight and away from the family estate.

* * *

"Another."

"But, ser…"

"Please, barkeep."

The bartender shook his head and huffed, pouring Brady another drink, "At least you cleaned yourself up. For a time, the nobles were wondering why I kept a homeless man a tab."

Brady raised his mug and smirked, swirling it and squinting down at the golden ale. He took a sip, then a large enough swig to finish his drink and slammed it back onto the bar.

The bartender refilled his mug and shook his head, "This is against my better judgment."

"It's been a rough day," Brady admitted.

The bartender chuckled, "Famous last words."

Brady suppressed a laugh and rubbed the short whiskers on his chin. The ale tingled his fingertips and relaxed his body into the stool he recognized as his second home. It was a terrible ritual he had grown accustomed to.

He pulled his necklace out of his shirt and toyed with the ring suspended on the chain. He looked into the diamonds and watched vibrant colors reflect off their surface. He clenched the ring in his hand and closed his eyes with a deep exhale.

The bartender leaned onto the counter, "Someone keeps making eyes at you, Trevelyan."

Brady tucked his necklace back in his shirt and narrowed his eyes at the bartender. His eyes flickered over Brady's shoulder to a woman who was sitting at a table at the far side of the tavern.

"Damn, we don't get many types like that walking in here," The bartender said.

Brady smirked. "Are you sure those looks aren't for you?"

"I doubt it."

Brady sighed and twisted to meet the bartender's gaze. The woman was indeed looking his way. Her were legs crossed as she leaned back against her seat with a glass of cherry red wine in her hand. He could make out a few of her features: long auburn hair and a heart shaped face that housed a grin.

Brady turned back to his bartender and rose a brow. "You know her?"

The bartender shook his head, "Like I said, ladies like that don't come here for a drink."

Brady shrugged and took a sip of ale. He swirled the liquor in the mug, "You didn't water this down, did you?"

The bartender cleaned glasses, muttering underneath his breath.

Brady cracked a smile, "What is your problem?"

The bartender slammed the glass on the counter and sneered, "Dammit, Brady."

"What?"

"Listen, as your friend..."

Brady raised his hand, "No. Not this again."

"Yes, 'this again.' I know you're still missing that redhead you never shut up about… but, you need to get back out there. It's been months since you two… you know…" he retracted, "I hate seeing you like this: Drunk and finding every reason not to go home."

"You don't understand."

"Maker, I do," He poured a glass of red wine and slid it to Brady, "That's gotta be the first woman to show interest in you since your ass got back. Now, be an Ostwick gentleman and talk to her!"

Brady protested, but with another insistence and frantic hand wave from the bartender, he returned to the woman at the table. He handed her the glass of wine. She seemed amused by his sheepish approach.

The woman's almond shaped eyes were the color of sapphire hydrangeas in bloom. She had a strong, straight nose. Her lips were plump, pouty, and the shade of crimson, continuing to hold a sinful smirk.

"Now, what brings you into a place like this?" He asked.

She leaned forward. "Rumor has it that this is the Inquisitor's favorite place to hide out. You do not happen to know anything about that, do you?" Her accent was strong. Orlesian.

Brady cleared his throat, "I do not."

"Oh, what a shame," she sipped on her wine, "Because I have been dying to meet him."

"From what I've heard, the Inquisition had disbanded months ago."

She hummed, "I heard something similar. That does not deter me, ser."

He leaned forward, "And might I ask, what would you do if you happened to meet him?"

She raised her eyes towards and let out a small laugh, "Well, I would hope he would buy me a drink and let me… _thank him_ for all he has done."

"I would have to decline, my lady."

She huffed, "Shame."

"But I'd love to know your name."

She leaned on the table, resting her head in her hands and looking into his eyes. "Anna."

Brady tipped his head to the side. "Anna?"

"Anna Shappmanne," she nodded with a smile, "My family is from Orlais."

"Your accent gave that away."

"Just as your lack of a left hand gave you away, inquisitor."

He shifted in his seat. "What is an Orlesian doing in Ostwick?"

She rolled her eyes, "My family is here for a business arrangement they believe will win them favor with the Empress. The Orlesian game knows no bounds, bringing me well across the continent." She raised a brow and sipped on her wine.

"You don't look entirely thrilled."

"Oh, I'm riveted," She chuckled. Her eyes narrowed. She placed her glass atop the table and leaned forward. Her eyes glossed around the tavern. "It's quite surprising that one of the most important men in Thedas hangs around a dirty tavern only a peasant could find."

"And yet here you are."

"And yet here I am," She smiled. "I figured I'd meet the man with the mark before he slipped into hiding again."

"Most people do not jump at the opportunity to meet me anymore," He admitted.

"Well," She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. "I'm not most people."

"I've noticed."

Her finger ran circles around the tip of the glass. "You're not what I expected, Inquisitor."

"That is not my title, my lady. Not anymore. Please, call me Brady."

"Two last names?" She questioned. "Is that common for Marchers?"

He laughed. "Not particularly, no. But, there's a good enough meaning behind it."

"And that is?" She prodded.

He looked away. His mind shot to the image of a young woman- slender and tall, with golden hair that fell and cascaded down her back as she read a tale of Garahel and the Grey Wardens riding through the skies on decorated Griffins.

"Personal." He replied.

"This is what I mean… you are nothing like I imagined," She pointed her finger at him. "I expected an eight foot tall deity with lightning bolts coming from his eyes."

He chuckled, "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, no. The real thing is much better," She said. "The world seems to forget that you are human, no different than the rest of us."

"I don't really care for what the world thinks of me." Brady argued.

She chuckled, "And you lie just like us. Terribly, might I add."

There was a glimmer in her eye that consisted of unspoken intention. She looked into his eyes like he were an open book. It left him uneasy.

She finished her drink and stood up. She brushed herself off, "Thank you kindly for the wine. I will see you around, Lord Trevelyan."

"I'm counting on it," He said and he watched her exit the tavern.

He shook his head and returned to his stool at the bar.

"I half expected you to leave with her," The bartender scoffed as he cleaned a squeaking glass.

Brady rolled his eyes, "Shows how much you know about women."

"Know enough to have convinced one to marry me," He quipped, "You, on the other hand, have been left by every woman you've ever known. Add that one to the list, why don't you?"

Brady grimaced, "Just give me another damn drink."

The bartender laughed boisterously. "Absolutely not. I think it's about time you go home."

Brady held his head in his hand and sighed. "Do not make me go back there."

"I'm closing up," The bartender began to wipe down the counter. "What's that saying? 'You don't have to go home, but you damn well can't stay here?' Well, yeah, that." He through the rag over his shoulder. "The wife will have my head if I don't get home soon."

Brady slapped his hand down and the bar and stood up from his stool. "I would drink to that, but you cut me off."

"Damn right I did," The bartender chuckled. "Now get out of here before I bloody throw you out."

Brady waved him off and exited the bar. The Ostwick streets were desolate. The brisk air of the night ran through his body. He coiled against the fur of his coat and stumbled down the dark street. The road swayed with every step as the lit lanterns oscillated in his eyes. His stomach churned as the world around him spun in circles.

He laughed at himself as his mind jumped to the thought of his old friends witnessing him trip over his own feet. He thought of Sera's laugh as she stumbled alongside him, Bull and his chargers shouting drinking songs down the empty streets, and Thom comparing the night to one from his youth.

The unwelcomed thought crept into his addled mind: Leliana humming to whatever tune the Chargers sung while he watched her with hazy eyes- still managing to see every shade of color in her eyes- as her warmth underneath his arm and the melodic tap of each footstep matched perfectly with the tune on her lips.

"Inquisitor?" He heard from the sidewalk.

He brought his eyes to the voice and saw Anna seated on a bench. He stopped. He watched her stand and walk towards him.

"Forgive me, but I don't think hanging out on the side of the road is safe at this hour," He quipped.

She let out a small laugh. "I know. I got lost walking back to the estate my family is staying. I figured I'd wait for a guardsman on patrol to escort me there," Her eyes fell to the road. "I'm sorry… this is so embarrassing," She looked up at Brady with a faint smile. "The Orlesian who can't find her way through a Marcher's city."

"Lucky for you, I know these streets like the back of my hand," He grinned. "I could take you there, if you'd like."

She nodded. "Of course, it's the Cunningham Estate. Lead the way, Inquisitor."

He held up his finger and protested. "As long as you stop calling me that."

She nodded, "Deal."

They turned down a street with half of the street lamps' flames burned out. The moonlight created shadows against the buildings. He slowed his steps as they proceeded down the street. His eyes scanned the narrow alleyways as he passed them, watching dark figures step out from the shadows of the night and followed behind.

The dark figures grew closer.

"Stay close to me," He warned Anna.

Brady felt her arm hug his as her body pressed against him. He straightened his spine and darted his eyes between the growing numbers of bodies that revealed themselves in the dim streetlight. They began to surround them as figures approached from ahead. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, and winced in pain at the sudden puncture of teeth from a blade bury itself into his side.

He looked down to see Anna digging the blade deep into his body, "Sorry about this, Brady," She said.

Her face blurred and distorted as he lost feeling in his legs and fell to the road. He fought against the heaviness overwhelming his body and clawed himself down the road. His body failed him as he rolled onto his back and watched his eyesight fade into darkness. Anna stood over him and spoke to the hooded figures that circled around him. He felt them lift his body as he lost consciousness.


	3. Old Foes, New Woes

Brady awoke and saw only a single torch in a brazier. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Wooden crates cluttered around the damp floor. His eyes clenched tight. He wriggled around only to discover he was tied up with a coarse rope damp with his own blood in a chair. He struggled against his restraints until an exasperated breath left his chest. He could feel the metal of his necklace and the cool surface of the ring pressed against his chest. He gathered he wasn't robbed- and wished that he was- rather than bound and drugged in Andraste knows where.

"Inquisitor," Brady heard Anna's voice against his ear.

He pulled at his restraints again. A frustrated grunt released from his heavy chest as his head fell back against the chair. High heels tapped against the ground and grew closer. He narrowed his eyes and saw a slender silhouette.

"You are wasting your energy," a familiar voice warned.

"Florianne…" He murmured. His neck craned toward the ceiling, "Maker, kill me now."

Florianne stood in front of him. The torchlight flickered against her face. She wore a loose blouse with a deep cut neckline, tight trousers and black, high heeled boots that came up to below her knee.

Anna stepped into the torchlight. She wore a black cloak that only allowed a glance of her light armor underneath. Her hood was down. Her hair was a knotted bun with pieces framing her face- falling and twirling beside her cheekbones.

Brady stiffened as Anna approached. She pursed her lips and leaned over him, reached for the back of the chair and pulled his restraints. The rope tightened against the cut on his side, and he growled, narrowing his eyes towards Anna.

Anna stepped away and crossed her arms. "The dagger had a concentrated dose of venom on the blade. The effects should wear off in a few hours."

"Who are you?" Brady scowled.

Florianne brought a sharp smirk across her face. "You are in no position to interrogate, Inquisitor."

"I enjoyed our night together, Inquisitor. If it were not for my mission-," Anna clicked her tongue and bit down on her bottom lip.

Brady narrowed his eyes. "Sorry, love. Calculated and crazy isn't my type."

"So you _didn't_ bed Lady Nightingale," She retorted. "Lady Florianne, your agents must have been misinformed."

Florianne waved her off, "Go fetch the others. Now."

Anna walked to the far side of the area. She opened a door that flooded the darkness with sunlight and the smell of the sea and slammed it abruptly.

 _By the docks,_ Brady concluded. He sat silent, and watched Florianne waltz back and forth.

"It took a lot of effort to find you," she admitted. "I half expected you to be in Tevinter."

Anna held the door for two shadows to enter. They joined Florianne in the light and stood at her side.

Samson stood to Florianne's right side in disheveled armor. His eyes were red with blighted lyrium as small crystals sprouted from his cheek. The veins on his face protruded and pulsed with a violent crimson. He stared Brady down with his blood red eyes.

Calpernia assumed Florianne's left side. She was pale and her sunken cheeks forced her cheekbones to protrude. Her eyes were wrapped around darkened circles that were colored like a deep bruise. She stood in ragged light armor with scorched plates against her shoulders.

If Brady had a worst nightmare, it was right in front of him: three of his infamous adversaries ready to run a sword through his chest while he sat helpless.

Samson spat at Brady's feet. "Where's your inquisition now, you bastard?"

Brady narrowed his eyes. "I'm not dead yet, so you must want something."

"Very good, inquisitor. Figured that out without your advisers… amazing." Calpernia quipped and crossed her arms.

"We want-," Florianne started.

Samson cut her off, "We want our fuckin' lives back, dammit."

Florianne shot him a glance and Samson silenced. He straightened his spine and craned his chin as the fluorescent light of his blighted eyes illuminated his cheeks and stared down at Brady.

Florianne closed in on Brady. "You're going to do us… a favor, inquisitor."

"Like the void I am," Brady snapped. "I'd rather die."

"We thought about it," Samson said. "Believe me."

"You're no use to us dead," Calpernia added.

"I'm not doing a damn thing for any of you," Brady growled. "You can all rot in the fade."

Florianne smiled like a venomous snake and eyed Brady like easy prey. "We knew you would say that, so let us add a little… incentive."

Brady sneered at Florianne. "What have you done?"

"Samson… acquired… some files from the Ostwick circle of Magi, and what we found is fascinating." Florianne cut through Brady with every word.

Brady felt his heart quicken against the cage of his chest. "What have you done, Florianne?" He repeated, his voice was a dark snarl.

"Does the name 'Eleanor Brady' mean anything to you?" Florianne asked. "I'm sure it does."

"Sweet Eleanor…" Samson sniffed. "Never thought of her to be a whore in her youth."

Brady lunged at Samson. The restraints held Brady tight against the chair. "I'll kill you for that, you ugly bastard!" His voice boomed against the walls.

"You'll do no such thing," Florianne scolded. "You will do what we say… and I promise you and your mother will live through this."

"You're mad," Brady spat. "My mother died when I was a child."

Florianne chuckled. "Is that what your father told you?"

"What are you talking about?" Brady retorted. His top lip curled.

"Your mother is very much alive, Brady," Florianne shrugged. "For now, at least."

"You're lying!"

"Samson… would you?" Florianne asked.

Samson hurried to the right side of the room and swung open a door. Brady heard the echo of rattling shackles escape the other room. Samson shouted and the rustling grew louder as he wrestled a woman towards Brady and threw her to his feet.

"May I present to you," Samson announced, "Lady Eleanor Brady."

"I can't wait to kill you," the woman said with her face against the ground. The woman wore tattered mage robes caked in mud. The woman raised her face towards Florianne, then turned to Brady.

Brady's eyes grew wide as all the air in his lungs escaped. He looked into her eyes and knew them as his own. The woman's eyes were what read him stories the nights he couldn't sleep, comforted him when he failed, and seen in his own reflection. Her golden hair was cropped to her shoulders, and small wrinkles were etched into her face.

"Oh, Maker," The woman said, exasperated. "Brady." She cried and repeated, "My boy, Brady."

"Mother?" The word escaped Brady's mouth. His voice was a small whisper as he stared down at the ground, "How is this possible...?"

Samson pulled Eleanor off of her feet and began to wrestle her back into the holding room.

"Get your blighted hands off me!" She cried as he forced her away from Brady.

"Don't touch her!" Brady shouted, "Mother!"

Samson shoved her into the room and latched the door. Brady heard Eleanor bang against the heavy wood, and her muffled screams behind the door. He sneered, wriggling against his restraints. He could feel a fire rise in his throat. The only thought in his mind was watching their heads roll with a cut from his blade.

"Do you believe us now?" Florianne asked as Samson rejoined his position beside Calpernia.

He shut his eyes and shook his head, "What do you want?"

"When I was a part of Celene's court, I had heard rumors about her arcane advisor having magical trinkets that could be sold for millions of sovereigns," Florianne explained, "Sovereigns we could use to buy ourselves out of the Makerless lives you sentenced us to."

"All we want is a fresh start," Calpernia added. "Far away from the past."

Samson darted his eyes between Florianne and Calpernia. He bowed his head, "I- don't have much time left on this world. I don't want to spend my last days lurking in the shadows as a fugitive."

"We need you to steal an elven artifact from the witch, and return it to us," Florianne continued, "Then, you and your mother will keep your lives and you will never hear from us again."

"I'm not the swordsman I used to be," Brady snarled as his head dropped with defeat. "You're asking for the impossible."

Florianne huffed and pulled her dagger out of the sheath on her belt. She cut Brady's bindings. He felt the weight of the rope release from his body and he let out a gust of air from his chest.

Samson grappled Brady and brought him up to his feet as Florianne moved the chair away from the light of the brazier. Samson forced Brady towards the darkness and threw him back into the chair. Calpernia grabbed the torch from its brazier. She set the torch atop a brazier on a wooden table. Samson circled around Brady and pressed Brady's left shoulder against the table, then disappeared. Florianne strapped his bicep in place against the table.

"You do not give us enough credit," Calpernia boasted. She reached underneath the table and unraveled a crude set of surgical tools against the table.

Samson returned with a chest that held the Imperium's crest in the center. Calpernia handed Samson a tiny vial full of crimson liquid.

"What are you doing?" Brady said, his eyes focused on the vial.

Florianne ran a hand through Brady's hair, then tugged his head backwards. Her fingers wrapped around his face and pinned him still. Samson pried Brady's jaw open and poured the vial into his mouth.

It was warm and tasted of metal in Brady's mouth. He gagged and tried to spit it out.

Samson jammed his jaw shut and stared into Brady's eyes, "If you don't swallow that, this'll kill you."

Brady forced the warm liquid down his throat and gasped as Florianne released him. His body spiked as his skin felt it had been set aflame. Pins and needles wracked underneath his skin, pricking against every nerve ending. His heart punched against his ribcage and urged to escape from its confines.

He shut his eyes tight and screamed, "What have you done to me?!"

Samson puffed and shoved a belt between his teeth. He tapped on Brady's right shoulder. "Bite down when it starts to sting."

Brady watched Calpernia pull three inch iron stakes out of the box. She set six of them on the table next to her medical instruments. She then revealed a circular, concave silver cap, with holes around the rim.

Brady grumbled against the belt in his mouth and attempted to resist. His body convulsed as the foreign liquid traveled through his bloodstream.

Samson held him by the shoulders and spoke slowly, "We're doing you a favor, Inquisitor. Be grateful, would you?"

"The imperium has been researching methods on how to get amputated soldiers back on the field for ages," Calpernia explained. "Consider yourself lucky we're able to try it on you." She placed the metal cap against his arm and began to conjure magic from her fingers.

"Try not to squirm," Florianne warned.

The world blurred and distorted around Brady. He watched Calpernia grab an iron stake. She examined it, then placed the tip against Brady's exposed skin underneath the metal cap.

Calpernia plunged the stake through his flesh. He jolted backwards and bared his teeth, puncturing them deep into the leather belt. Florianne and Samson held him in place as Calpernia continued securing the metal cap with the metal stakes.

Brady writhed in pain as his blood pooled on the table. As the last stake thrusted into his skin, he fell limp against the table. His labored breathing echoed across the room. He lifted his head and stared at Calpernia with bloodshot eyes.

He collapsed against the table. He fell victim to the pain that surged through his body. He began to fade. His forehead pressed into the blood soaked wood. Darkness blanketed his eyes and his labored breathing halted.

Calpernia's voice withered away to a soft whisper, then nothing.

* * *

Brady awoke with his cheek against a ragged wooden bench. He heard waves crash against the walls. He attempted to lift himself and yelped in pain. He collapsed against the bench and growled. His sight was blurred. His veins felt like they pumped fire through his body.

"Oh, Brady…" The voice of a ghost cried out.

He heard the rattle of chains, then a wet gourd pressed to his lips. He drank, then gasped, falling back against the bench.

A hand touched his forehead and pet through his hair. He squinted and saw his mother. A frown pulled on her lips as she examined him.

"What have they done to you?" Eleanor said with a sigh.

"M-mother…" Brady choked out. "My arm."

"I know, I know." Eleanor's eyes attached to his left arm and winced. "It's going to be okay."

A pulse of pain rippled through his body. He tensed and roared in agony. Eleanor jumped and looked away.

"What have they done to me?" Brady cried out, his eyes pleaded for an answer.

Eleanor placed a hand on his cheek, "It's the Dragon's blood," She thumbed away a bead of sweat that rolled from his forehead. "It must work its way through your system."

"This must be a dream," He pressed his head against the bench. He murmured, "Some horrible nightmare. This isn't real. It cannot be _real._ "

"Brady…" She pleaded.

"You're dead. We burned you _, I watched you burn_." Brady brought his eyes to Eleanor, "How is this possible?"

Eleanor clenched her eyes tight. "I have much to explain-,"

Brady seized and spat blood from his mouth. Eleanor gave him another drink of water. He fell limp against the bench. He pressed his right hand against the wood and forced himself to sit up. He rested his back against the wall.

When he opened his eyes, they attached to his left arm. He gasped at the sight. The arm reached and hugged his elbow with bolts drilled through the circular metal and into his skin. The forearm was piped with metal tubes that left spaces large enough that Brady could see through the piping.

The hand resembled a nightmare. The fingers of the contraption mimicked an armored gauntlet- the palm flat against copper pipes that reached up to each fingertip while the back of the hand was a convex piece of metal. He flexed his fingers and sprawled them as much as he could manage. He clenched the hand into a fist and winced. It must be enchanted to obey the will of his mind, but he was no mage. The simple act of making a fist caused the nerves in his arm to spike and release a fiery pain that crawled up his shoulder and shot a bolt of lightning against his skull.

"I'm a monster," He murmured, lifting his arm and examining the monstrosity.

Eleanor placed her hand on top of his and squeezed. "We are going to get through this."

He looked at her. Her blue eyes soothed him- just as they did in his youth after a nightmare, or when his siblings picked on him.

"I'm not going to let them hurt you," Brady said. He shook his head, "I should have killed them when I had the chance."

Eleanor chuckled, "Never thought I'd regret teaching you that mercy is a virtue."

He pulled on a small smile. So many questions rushed through his head. He couldn't fathom a single explanation for any of them. His mother, whom he thought dead for years, sat beside him with her hand rested on his; a blessing he believed had been lost since he was a child.

He wanted to flood her with questions and demand explanations, but this was not the time. The only thing he needed was her reassurance and strength to guide him through the dark.

He fingers fiddled with the ring on his necklace. His eyes flickered to the ceiling. He thought about Leliana and how she'd manage to get out of this mess. If she were here, Samson, Florianne, and Calpernia would have been dead before a single demand escaped their lips.

He grimaced. The comfort he found in his memories of her withered into a transparent apparition. He feared that she would be erased from his mind forever, and the ghost of her memory would be the only thing that remained.

Eleanor thumbed the back of his hand. She sighed and placed a reassuring grin on her lips.

Brady exhaled. "I'm afraid, mother." He shook his head, "I'm afraid that this is it."

"Brady Maxwell Trevelyan," Eleanor said with a stony sternness, "You've encountered worse, I know you have. You will endure, and we will make it through this alive."

The cabin door creaked open. Calpernia and Florianne entered and shut the door behind them.

"You're finally up," Calpernia said. "How's the arm feel?"

Brady scrunched his brows, "Like the Void."

Florianne threw a pack onto the bench beside him. "We're approaching the shores of Highever. From there, you will begin your mission."

"And that is…?" Brady said.

Florianne crossed her arms. "You will infiltrate the Teryn of Highever's engagement party, steal the artifact, and then bring it back to our safe house."

"This artifact… what is it?" Brady asked.

"It is a sacred dagger that dates back to before Elvhenan fell to the Tevinter Imperium. The dagger alone is worth more than our weight in gold." Calpernia explained.

"Gold that will buy our way out of these Maker-forsaken lives you have given us," Florianne said.

"I let you keep your lives, dammit," Brady scoffed.

Florianne retorted, "And subjected us to a fate worse than death!"

"We have given you a gift, Inquisitor," Calpernia darted her eyes to Brady's new arm. "After we receive the dagger, we're even… you'll never see us again. That is a promise."

Brady deflated his shoulders and sunk deep into his seat. He made a fist with his new hand and grimaced. He released his grip and sprawled the mechanic fingers out.

"Start getting ready," Florianne demanded. She turned toward the door. "It might be a long night for you."

"Right," Brady narrowed his eyes. "I don't suppose a wash first is too unreasonable?"


	4. Honor and Thieves

**Author's Note: Hey! Hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I've been updating _Andraste's Unchosen_ weekly so far, but with the imminent return of class coming up, it might slow down the updates a bit. I'm going to try to keep up with the weekly updates, but it might be slowed to bi-weekly, and I apologize for any waiting in the future.**

 **With that, enjoy this chapter and hopefully you all are having a great New Year!**

* * *

Brady walked through the threshold and into the ballroom. The smell of spilt champagne and perfume overwhelmed the area. The ballroom was filled with elegant nobility who laughed at unoriginal jokes and held piercing grins that looked as fake as Brady's left hand.

He grimaced at the contraption and pulled his black glove tight against the metallic fingers. He could not determine what was more painful, the procedure or the arm itself.

Brady's sandy blond hair slicked back against his head. He wore a heavy scarlet jacket with gold trim laced around the cuffs and down the seams. His matching vest was tight on his torso and housed buttons down the center. Underneath the vest bore a midnight black undershirt that reached towards his neck and stopped just below his jaw. The fabric dipped around his chin that exposed his throat. His trousers hung loose against his thighs, then tightened below the knee where his pant legs tucked into black leather boots.

He walked the floor and made eyes at the beautiful noblewomen in dresses- some leaving something to the imagination, and many that didn't.

He signaled a servant for a drink and leaned against a pillar. He sipped the expensive champagne and watched the dancers on the floor spinning around to the melody of the orchestra. For a room filled to the brim with people, he failed to notice a single familiar face. He sighed and finished his drink with a quick flick of his wrist.

He felt a single finger run across his shoulders down to his arm, and snapped into a taunting point.

"No drinking," Florianne scolded. "You are no use to this mission drunk as a dwarf."

He stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

Florianne laughed beneath her white mask with deep blue feathers that circled the frame. Her silk dress matched the feathers and complimented the curves of her body.

"You thought we would send you here without supervision?"

"I told you I would do it and I meant it," Brady snarled, his face inching closer to hers with bared teeth.

Florianne grinned and pressed her hand to his chest. Her lips craned towards his ear and whispered, "Watch your tone, Inquisitor. I'd hate to get blood on this dress."

Brady sniffed and raised his chin. "Where is this artifact?"

"From what I remember, you have no problem searching other's homes." Florianne quipped. She tapped his chest and adjusting his jacket. Florianne stepped back and wriggled her finger. "I'll be watching you. If I sense any sabotage… Your mother loses her head."

Brady clenched his jaw, his brows pushing together. Florianne narrowed her eyes and grinned. She waved her hand and walked into the crowd.

Florianne disappeared before Brady managed to blink. He ran his fingers through his hair and blew out an exhale.

A chill ran down his spine, and he grabbed another glass of champagne with urgency. His hand shook as he pressed his lips to the glass and threw the drink down his throat.

Morrigan. The Warden. Both would have no difficulty striking him down if it came to that. Brady tried to find solace in the idea that this was necessary, a simple means to an end. He closed his eyes tight and steadied his breathing as the truth addled his mind: After this, he would be no better than Calpernia, Florianne, or Samson.

Brady maneuvered through the crowded ballroom and watched the exits for anyone prominently dressed to walk through. He paid attention to the colors of the guests' outfits, looking for patterns of green and blue to determine Cousland guards or members of the Cousland family.

He noticed two guards dressed in full plated armor with weapons in hand entered the ballroom from blocked double doors. They took a position at each side of the door and stood at attention.

He pressed through the crowd and walked out to the moonlit balcony that was adjacent to the guarded doors. Stained glass windows lined the wing behind the doors, too decorated for Brady to see through. He leaned against the railing and sighed as his head fell.

"A visitor?" A voice cooed, making Brady flinch. "Surely you would find more enjoyment inside."

Brady paused and eyed the sound from the shadows. He straightened and watched her step into the moonlight.

"Lady Morrigan," Brady bowed. "Always a pleasure."

Morrigan hummed as she drew closer. A single finger slid across the railing. She examined her black painted fingernail and flicked dust off her fingertip.

"Tell me," Morrigan said. "What draws you away from the crowd?"

"Would you believe a headache?"

"No."

Brady chuckled, "Of course not."

"'Tis strange to see you here," She tilted her head with a smirk, "The guest list was rather extensive… though I believed I would have known if the former leader of the Inquisition was invited."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

"'Tis interesting, your presence. Whispers have claimed no one has been to contact you for quite some time," Her eyes narrowed. "And yet, you cross the Waking Sea for an engagement party for a foreign Teryn I do not believe you have ever met."

Brady glanced into the ballroom. "I believed I would see some old friends here. Ostwick has been rather dull."

"You imagined a reunion-"

He interrupted, "Where's Damon?"

Morrigan retracted and brought her eyes to the ground. She swallowed hard, then craned her neck with a sigh, "He is away. If you came all this way to speak with him, you have wasted your time."

"A shame, I had wished to see him." He smiled, "For what it's worth, speaking with you definitely makes up for any of my 'wasted time,' Morrigan."

A boy peeked his head through the balcony doors. He smiled at Morrigan and glanced at Brady. His eyes widened, and he approached with an extended hand.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan," the boy greeted with a nod, "Good to see you."

"Kieran." He shook his hand with a smile, then released his grip with a whistle, "Maker, you're practically a man now."

Kieran laughed and switched his eyes to Morrigan, "Don't tell Mother that, she'll get all misty eyed."

Morrigan rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Is there something you need, Kieran?"

"Uncle Fergus wished to see you in the ballroom, but I could tell him you have company-"

"No, no. I will go speak with him," Morrigan sighed, "Go enjoy yourself, but do not let me catch you with a glass in your hand."

"Of course not, Mother," Kieran bowed his head. "It was good to see you, Inquisitor Trevelyan."

Brady bid Kieran farewell and watched him return to the ballroom. He pursed his lips and smirked, "The resemblance is uncanny."

Morrigan hummed, "There is much of his father in him. I am quite uncertain whether 'tis a blessing or a curse."

"He's grown into a fine man," Brady said.

"Thank you," Morrigan grinned and walked to the balcony doors. She looked over her shoulder to Brady and raised a brow. "Do not cause any trouble in my absence, Inquisitor."

Brady nodded, "No promises."

Morrigan snickered and disappeared into the ballroom.

Brady raised his eyes to the stained glass and the rooftop above. An entrance into the wing sat below him. He peered over the balcony and saw the garden below vacant of any gaudsmen. He threw himself off of the balcony and hung by the loose masonry underneath the railing.

He reached for another loose stone with his artificial arm, using all of his focus to have the fingers grip and hold as tight as possible. He looked down and saw no more loose pieces of stone to grasp on to. His hand began to slip. With a grunt, his other hand grasped the loose masonry and caught him.

He noticed a tall shrub a few feet away from him. He shook his head and cursed The Maker, then swung his legs towards the shrub. He released his grip on the stone and propelled towards the shrub. He hit it with a loud thud as he descended down the shrub, hitting every branch on the way down. He crashed to the cobbled ground. He groaned and rolled onto his back.

"That was terrible," He said aloud, spitting out pieces of shrubbery from his mouth.

He heard clanking armor approaching him. He slithered into a shadow and watched Cousland guards rush to the wounded shrub.

"What in bloody hell was that?" A guard said, itching his head.

The guard beside him took quick look around. "I don't know. Probably a bird."

"Dumbass bird." The first guard added.

Brady peeked from the shadows and saw the guards vanish from his view. He slinked into the lower floor of the castle.

The candles of the hallway fluttered and extinguished as he shut the door. He followed the hallway towards a stone spiral stairwell.

His hand hummed and vibrated up to his shoulder. He tore off his glove and shoved it into his pocket. His hand irradiated an electric blue light that flooded the dark corridor. He raised his hand and illuminated the staircase as he ascended.

The vibration spiked as he reached the second floor. Latched wooden doors lined the left side of the hallway, and the red stained glass with images of Andraste covered the other side.

He took small steps passed each door, the light of his hand fluctuating with every step. The blue light beamed and vibrated upon a door midway through the hallway. He pulled a lock pick from his pocket and toyed with the latch. The lock clicked and cracked the door open. He peeked his head in and slid into the room.

It was a bedroom- lit with candlelight with the moon casting shadows against the stone floor. A large bed draped in crimson sheets sat between two windows. There were portraits against the walls of men and women draped in Ferelden formal wear.

Brady looked at his hand and followed the pulsing hums as he searched the bedroom. It vibrated and stung every nerve ending when he approached a bookcase pressed against a wall. He began to pull on the spines of the tomes aligned on the cluttered shelves. He waved his hand over the bookcase and found a familiar title amongst the withered books.

" _Tale of the Champion_?" Brady guessed, and pulled the book's spine forward.

The bookcase clicked, shifted forward, and then crawled to the side. Behind the bookcase was a dagger, no bigger than his hand, perched on a wooden frame. The blade illuminated against the light of his hand, the encrusted gems sparking with violent shades of red and orange.

As he stepped towards it, the sound of feet hitting the floor made him freeze.

"Do not touch that." A voice warned.

"Listen," Brady reached for his sword, "I'm having a really bad week."

Brady pivoted and saw nothing but shadows. He took a step forward with his blade, and waded through the room.

An arrow flew towards him, and he deflected the shot with his sword. He turned, his eyes flickering around the corners of the room.

A glass vial rolled across his feet and exploded, filling the room with a thick smoke. Brady coughed and grew disoriented as he waded through the heavy black cloud. A weight jumped onto his back and pried his neck back. He felt the cold steel of a blade pressing against his throat.

He dropped his sword and pulled on the arm around his neck. The blade inched away from his throat, and he pressed his shoulder into the assailant, throwing them against the wall. He gripped the assailant by the wrists. His hand lit the face of the assailant through the smoke.

Brady's eyes widened as he released his grip on the wrists. He shook his head and stumbled backwards.

"Leliana…"

Leliana squinted through the smoke and blinked with a sharp gasp, "Brady."

They stood in place as their eyes studied each other through the cloud of smoke. Her eyes burned every inch of his skin. His mouth dried as she took a step forward.

She wiped her hand against her lips and stood in front of him. The smoke began to clear, and he could see her eyes flickering across his face.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Brady asked, scrunching his brow and narrowing his eyes.

"No, what are _you_ doing here?" Leliana retorted, pointing at his hand. "And what in Andraste's Grace is that?"

"You know, I asked first."

Leliana clenched her jaw and shoved his chest. "Talk, Trevelyan."

Brady scrunched his nose and pointed to the artifact. "I _really_ need that."

Leliana dug a finger into her chest, "I need that."

"We don't have time to argue about this," Brady scowled, "If I don't-"

She crossed her arms. "Don't what? Steal from Morrigan?"

He cocked his head and pressed his brows together. "Isn't that exactly what you are trying to do?"

"No," She craned her nose up, "I am simply borrowing."

"You have to trust me," Brady said. "I wouldn't be here if this wasn't necessary."

"I can't leave here without that dagger," Leliana stressed.

His lip curled. "Neither can I."

"I'm sorry, Brady." She choked out, unsheathing a dagger. "This is for the greater good."

He held his hands out in front of him. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," She rolled her eyes. "You can't. Not anymore."

A burst of purple smoke clouded behind Leliana. Florianne emerged from the smoke with her bow trained and aimed at the back of Leliana's head.

"Lady Nightingale," Florianne teased, "A lover's reunion, I see?"

"Oh, Brady," Leliana shut her eyes and shook her head, "You cannot be serious."

"Don't hurt her, Florianne," Brady growled.

Florianne smirked and pulled on her bow. "That depends on if you said anything."

Brady raised his hand, "Not a word, I swear."

"Grab the artifact," Florianne ordered.

Brady kept his eyes on Florianne, taking slow steps backwards towards the artifact.

Leliana looked over her shoulder and scoffed, her eyes flickering between the head of the arrow and the floor. She slipped a smirk across her face and crouched, sweeping her leg across Florianne's feet.

Florianne crashed to the floor. Her bow shot the arrow into the air and penetrated the ceiling. Florianne rolled and forced herself to her feet.

Brady sprinted for the artifact and secured it in his grasp. Leliana threw the dagger into Brady's shoulder. He groaned and threw his back against the wall. He placed the artifact into his jacket and pulled her dagger out of his arm, throwing it to the ground and shuffling away from the bookcase.

Leliana pivoted and dodged a strike from Florianne's bow. She grabbed Brady's sword from the ground and sliced through Florianne's bowstring.

The sound of clamoring guards rumbled from outside of the bedroom door.

"Florianne, we need to go," Brady said. "Now."

Florianne ran her hand across her lips and grinned, slithering towards Brady and wrapping her arm around his. "Another time, Nightingale."

Florianne threw a vial against the ground and filled the room with a blinding light. She pulled on Brady's arm and shoved them through the window.

Broken glass rained down as they crashed onto the stone pavement of the courtyard.

Brady rolled over and groaned, "A warning would have been nice."

Florianne sprung to her feet and offered Brady her hand.

Florianne's eyes flickered to the broken window. She huffed, and lifted Brady by his shoulder, pushing him away from the debris and through the courtyard.

Guards appeared in the courtyard in droves. Florianne dragged Brady towards a fountain and sat him down.

"Brush yourself off, quickly." Florianne ordered.

"What are you doing?" His brows furrowed. "We have to leave, dammit!"

Guards flooded the courtyard and circled around the fountain.

"Quick," Florianne whispered. She closed her eyes and pulled on Brady's jacket, pressing her lips against his.

Brady's eyes widened as she wrapped her hand around his neck. He saw a heavy armored guard approach from behind Florianne. He closed his eyes and rested his hand on her cheek.

The guard stood in front of them and shouted orders. He coughed and took a step back, his face bright red behind his helmet, "Oh, I apologize my lady."

Florianne pulled away and slapped her hands against her thighs, "My, you can never get any privacy at these balls!" She shot up and waved her hands.

She grabbed Brady's collar and pulled him up. He stared at her, bewildered.

"Come, my love. Let us find somewhere we won't be _rudely_ interrupted," Florianne said.

Florianne led Brady to the front gates and they hopped on readied horses. The guards at the doors bid them a goodnight as they rode away from the castle. In the distance, Brady heard a commotion at the gates and flustered voices demanding the gates to be shut.

Brady rode alongside Florianne across the bridge and through the farmland.

He shook his head, "Right through the front door, huh?"

"If you know what you're doing, you can always leave through the front door," Florianne flicked her reigns. "We must get to Calpernia and Samson at the meeting point."

"And then I'm done… and my mother will be safe," Brady stressed.

Florianne smirked, "A deals a deal, inquisitor. Do you not trust me?"

He scoffed and flicked his reigns.

Florianne rode ahead and slowed down at the sight of a small village on the outskirts of the farmland.

They trotted through the quiet village. Candlelight flickered in the small cottages that lined the dirt road that split the village through its center. Music and the sounds of boisterous laughter grew louder as they reached a tavern.

They dismounted and tied their horses to the gate. Florianne waved her hand to Brady and walked towards the entrance. Brady followed her in and scanned the room for his mother.

Brady grabbed Florianne's arm and pulled her towards him. "Where is she?"

"Patience." She shuffled out of his grip and continued through the tavern.

At the end of the bar, Samson and Calpernia shared drinks. Their eyes widened at the sight of Florianne. Brady stood squared next to Florianne and craned his chin.

Samson finished his drink and slammed it against the bar. He grimaced, "About bloody time."

Calpernia placed a pack on the stool beside her. Florianne turned to Brady with a sly grin. She ran her fingers down his chest and slid her hands into his jacket. He stiffened and clenched his jaw. He felt her pull the artifact from his inside pocket. She placed a kiss on his cheek as her hand placed the dagger into the pack.

Calpernia pulled the pack away and latched it. Florianne tapped Brady's face, her eyes narrowing, her lips holding a serpent's smile.

"Where is my mother?" Brady prodded.

Samson and Calpernia rose from their barstools. Samson brushed himself off and pointed towards a table at the far side of the room. Eleanor sat alone with her eyes on Brady, a mug placed in front of her.

"I bought her a drink," Samson shrugged. "Hope you don't mind."

Brady curled his lip, "If you touched her…"

Samson laughed and slammed his hand against Brady's shoulder. Brady shrugged him off.

"It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Brady," Florianne smiled and fixed his tattered jacket. "May our paths never cross again."

Brady cocked his head and pushed through them towards Eleanor. She stood up from her seat and puffed out a breath as Brady squeezed her in his arms.

Brady pulled away and studied her face. A small smile rested on her face, her blue eyes soft on him.

She placed her hands on his face. "Rough night, huh?"

"I'm alright," He choked out with a laugh emerging from his chest. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Samson, Calpernia, and Florianne vanished from the tavern.

Eleanor urged him to take a seat. He complied, and collapsed into his seat. She slipped into her seat and watched him run his fingers through his hair with his eyes shut and his hands cradling the weight of his head.

"You look terrible," Eleanor shuttered. "Lucky were in Ferelden… anywhere else, they'd have you questioned for murder."

Brady looked up, "It's over. That's all that matters."

Eleanor signaled the bartender for two drinks to be sent to the table. They sat in silence until the serving girl placed two mugs of ale onto the table. Brady grabbed his mug and took a drink, then fell back against his chair.

Eleanor sipped on her mug and wiped the foam from her lip. She exhaled and placed her mug against the table. She clicked her tongue and toyed with a gemmed ring on her finger.

"This was a nightmare," Eleanor said. "But before all of this… I thought I'd never see you again."

Brady twitched his brows and took another drink. He leaned forward and choked on the knot in his throat. He raised his eyes to hers and swallowed, "I- just can't believe you have been alive this whole time."

Eleanor bowed her head, "Brady…"

"I was twelve," Brady ran his hand against his jaw, "Twelve years old. Father told me your body had been sent from Ferelden. I remember every detail about that day-that conversation- Maker, I memorized that condolence letter from Queen Anora."

He narrowed his eyes and stared her down. "Does he know?"

"Your father knows nothing," Eleanor said. "And it'd be best for it to stay that way."

"He deserves to know-"

"No," Eleanor said. "It would break his heart."

"Break his heart? Maker, you already did." Brady leaned forward. "What happened, mother? Did you grow bored of Ostwick? Were me and father not enough for you to come home?"

He dug a finger into his chest, "Was I not enough for you?"

"Brady-"

"Could you just not take it anymore? Cause I get it… I do. You couldn't bear to deal with the some fuckin' accident product of your affair- You weren't prepared to be stuck with some fucking bastard son-"

She slammed her mug against the table, "That is enough!"

Brady jumped and retreated to the back of his chair. The patrons in the tavern silenced and stared at their table. Eleanor huffed and took a sip of ale. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath.

"I loved you and your father more than anything in this world- Maker, I still do," She twisted the ring on her finger. "When I made the choice to leave Ostwick and help Ferelden during the Fifth Blight-"

"I know. Father told me you were a hero for what you were doing for them… He was proud of you," Brady shook his head and chuckled. "I used to tell everyone you were slaying archdemons and flying griffons with the Grey Wardens. Grace would climb on my back and we'd pretend Lady Mira's rose bushes were darkspawn. Mira would always scold us and make us return to our studies."

Eleanor laughed and wiped a tear off of her face. "Your father tried giving me a million reasons to not join the efforts in Ferelden, but he knew I wasn't going to change my mind. No one knew whether it was a true blight or not, but I was not going to sit on my hands until it spread to the Free Marches. I wanted to protect you and Silas; fight for the blight to begin and end in Ferelden."

She continued, "King Cailan wished for the best and brightest to be by his side, so I was the only Ostwick mage stationed at Ostagar."

Brady murmured, "You were at the Battle of Ostagar?"

Eleanor flicked a strand of hair across her face. "I was. And I can pinpoint the exact moment I regretted ever crossing the Waking Sea during that battle. It was a massacre. We all watched that beacon burn, and the hope dissipate with every passing moment.

"I refused to die there. I remember running until my lungs burned through the Wilds until I reached this small village of Lothering and met a band of travelers who were trying to get to Orlais before the blight swallowed everything.

"In Orlais, I figured I would work… raise enough money to return to you and your father. But, things changed."

"What do you mean 'things changed?'" Brady prodded. "Did you decide Orlesian cuisine was too good to part from? Father would have paid an entire fleet to bring you back… Maker, you could have even sent a letter at least saying you were alive. You couldn't even do that?"

"I knew your father would give you everything," Eleanor explained. "Andraste's ass, I even knew Mira would try her best to raise you right."

"That is one shitty excuse," Brady said.

Eleanor pressed her hand against her mouth. She wiped her nose and sniffled. She closed her eyes, forcing small tears to crawl down her face.

"You couldn't understand," Brady hung his head in his hands. "I prayed to the Maker hoping you were by His side… that you were looking down at me and you were _proud_ \- that I grew into the man you wanted me to be."

Brady's hand curled into a tight ball. He released, and a sob escape from his throat. He stiffened in his chair and ran his hand through the short locks in his hair. His bloodshot eyes beamed through Eleanor.

"Countless nights," Brady breathed, "Wishing for another moment- a fraction of a moment- just to tell you how much I love you… how much I missed you."

Brady grabbed his mug and sighed. He set it down and stared of the rings of ale on the table. He looked up to the ceiling and bit down on his lip. He looked at Eleanor.

"Father and Mira raised me well, you're right. They gave me everything I ever needed. Even if Mira and I never got along, she worked her ass off to keep me in line. I will never be able to repay them for that," He said.

He took a breath and choked out, "But they couldn't fill that hole I felt when I lost you- all the times in my life where I just needed my mother… and you weren't there."

Eleanor grabbed Brady's hand and squeezed.

"Brady," She murmured. "Brady, look at me."

Brady brought his eyes onto hers. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened near her swollen eyes.

Eleanor ran her thumb against the back of his hand, "We may have lost some time, but I promise you… Brady, I promise you… I'm not going anywhere. Not again."

Brady pleaded, "Tell me why you didn't come home."

"I- I can't," Eleanor shook her head, "I will tell you everything, but please let me keep this one to myself."

Brady pressed his lips into a tight line. Eleanor kept her eyes on him. His curiosity burned in his throat like a shot of whiskey. He couldn't fathom a conclusion. She was holding onto the truth of the only question he cared to be answered. But, she was in his life once again, making every dream of another moment with her grow into a reality. What did the truth matter if she was here?

He swallowed and nodded, "Alright."

Eleanor grinned and tipped her mug over, "It looks like we need another ale."

A smile slipped across his lips, "More like an entire cask."

The door of the tavern swung open and slammed against the wall, bleeding the darkness of the night into the candlelit tavern, snuffing out a few flames and silencing the patrons.

Eleanor looked over Brady's shoulder and sneered, "Never a good sign."

Brady looked over his shoulder and froze. Leliana stood in the doorway with Templars crowded behind her.

"Search the tavern," Leliana ordered. Templars flooded into the tavern, their eyes prodding every patron.

Brady stared down at the table and whispered to Eleanor, "You need to get out of here."

"I'm not leaving you with her, she's-"

Brady muttered with a quick breath, "Maker, I know who she is."

Brady peeked over his shoulder and saw the Templars draw closer to them. Eleanor crossed her arms and raised a brow.

Brady raised his brows and whispered, "Go, now."

"Not without you," Eleanor protested.

Brady rolled his eyes and turned around. His eyes connected with Leliana from across the tavern. He stood from his chair and faced her.

"Enough," Leliana ordered. The Templars stopped and followed her across the tavern.

Leliana craned her neck and walked towards him, her fiery red hair blowing behind her. Every step echoed through the silent tavern.

"Listen," Brady held his hands up, "I can explain if you just-"

Leliana huffed and slapped him across the face. Brady smirked and rubbed his hand against his cheek.

"Brady Trevelyan, you are under arrest by order of Divine Victoria for conspiracy against the Chantry," Leliana said. "Detain the woman as well."

Eleanor scoffed, "On what grounds?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes. "Aiding and abetting a criminal."

Two Templars approached from behind her as Leliana left for the exit. A Templar slammed Brady against the table, binding his hands behind him. He pulled his restraints tight and forced him onto his feet.

The Templar behind him forced him to his feet and escorted him towards the door. Eleanor was a few paces behind. He heard her curse the Templar and Leliana with a sharp tongue.

He heard the intoxicated tavern patrons whisper his name to one another, their eyes unable to pry themselves away. His name on their lips held a sour tune, his identity passed from lips to ear with looks of scorn following his every step. His head fell as he submitted to the heavy effort of the Templar pushing him towards the exit.

The night sky kissed the dawn. The illumination from Brady's mangled prosthetic arm lit the area around him. The Templar led him to a cage connected to a caravan and tossed him through the open bars. The second Templar pressed Eleanor against the cage and allowed her to step in.

Leliana walked up to the cage without a word and latched the locks.

Brady called out to Leliana as she turned away, "This is a huge misunderstanding."

"Wasting your breath with that one," Eleanor sighed. "If she wanted us dead, though, we would be; At least we have that."

Brady twitched his brows, "And how would you know that?"

"The gossip in Orlais is the only thing louder than the fashion," Eleanor shrugged. "You should've heard what they said about you."

Brady pressed the back of his head against the cool iron bars. The caravan moved through the village. Brady huffed at every bump that shook the cage.

"I could burn through these bindings," Eleanor murmured. "We could run through the farmlands and get out of here."

"Those Templars would pacify you before we could say 'run,'" He stretched his legs out. "I can talk our way out of this mess."

"Right… Have it your way," Eleanor said. "You're doing a fine job of that so far."


	5. Guys, Gals, and Garrisons

The smell of iron and stagnant water overwhelmed their cell. A single torch lit the front of the cell, leaving the rest of the cell pitch black. Eleanor leaned against the rusted bars of their cell with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes fixed on the exterior of the cell. She sighed, tapping her foot against the ground.

Brady whistled a somber tune, his fingers playing with the ring entrapped in its silver chain around his neck. It danced across his fingers, and he watched the diamonds sparkle when kissed by the light of the flame, and how it dimmed and disappeared in the darkness.

A pang of regret came across him. Leliana addled his racing mind. He always hoped he would find his way back to her- to feel her touch, to become entranced by her presence. He still felt the sting of her hand on his cheek, and hoped she would somehow find it in her to forgive him. But, the hope he held onto felt like an apparition wandering away, leaving him wondering if it was ever tangible to begin with.

Eleanor turned and narrowed her eyes. Brady stopped whistling and dropped the ring. It fell onto his chest. He cleared his throat and tucked it into his stretched out neckline.

"What was that?" She asked, drawing closer to him.

He looked down at his hands. "Nothing."

She swiped the pile of dust on the floor beside him away with her foot and sat down. Her finger looped around the silver chain and pulled the ring from inside of his tunic. Her eyes widened as her eyes fell upon the diamond encrusted ring. She stayed silent, darting her eyes into Brady's. He tucked it underneath his neckline in a haste and looked at the stone wall in front of them.

"That is a handsome ring," Eleanor said. "Looks Orlesian."

Brady nodded. "It is."

"And expensive."

"It was."

She raised her brows and remained silent. Brady rubbed the back of his neck. Eleanor raised her nose and uttered, "Who was it for?"

Brady blew out a puff of air. "I don't want to talk about this right now. Especially with you."

She gasped. "And why not?"

"Because, mother," He stressed, then took a breath. "It no longer matters. Just leave it."

"And yet you still wear it around your neck."

"I said I don't want to speak of this." He growled. "And I mean it."

She persisted. "Was it meant for the divine?"

"What?"

"The Divine," She repeated. "Divine Victoria? Formally known as-"

"Cassandra Pentaghast," Brady finished.

"Yes," Eleanor waved her finger and smiled. "Orlais was full of gossip concerning you two. They spoke of an extravagant wedding on the horizon, plans for fifteen children-"

"Maker!"

"Was it for her?" Eleanor said.

He stretched out his jaw and scratched the stubble that ran along his cheek. She waited for a response, but he stayed silent.

"It must have been hard- I'm sorry. I know how it feels, Brady. To be so close and just- just have everything out of your control."

"Right," Brady breathed. She rested a hand on his shoulder. He slumped his shoulders and slunk lower to the floor. He looked up at Eleanor, her eyes still curious for an answer. He brought his eyes back to the stone wall.

He explained his relationship with Cassandra during the inquisition. Eleanor sat and listened, her curiosity leaving her face. She was in awe listening to him. A small smile gripped his lips as he recounted memories of a happier time. He told her that when she was named Divine, he knew it was over, and accepted that a very long time ago.

"So why do still wear her ring?" Eleanor asked.

Brady laughed. "Because it isn't hers."

"For the love of Andraste, Brady," She cursed and slapped her hands against her thighs. She shot up and walked towards the bars, crossing her arms and shaking her head slowly.

The sound of a creaking door and pattering boots stepping into shallow puddles that cluttered and collected on the stone floor echoed against the walls. Torchlight grew closer, dancing against the damp walls and shimmering against the wet stone.

Brady groaned as he stood and walked towards the bars. He wrapped his hands around the thin bars of iron and pressed his forehead against them. A cheeky smile grazed his lips as his eyes met with Cassandra and Leliana.

They stood side by side with Leliana holding a torch and inching it towards the cell, illuminating the faces of Eleanor and Brady. Leliana was draped in a hooded wine red cloak. It flowed over the frame of her body and stopped at her ankle.

Cassandra was relieved of her Divine robes, and stood tall with golden armor polished enough that Brady wondered if he could see his reflection within the metal. He didn't bother to try, either; the look on her face was reminiscent of the scowl she made during battle, and a jest may relieve his shoulders of his head.

He shared a glance with Leliana, and looked upon her doe eyed and a slight pout against his lips. She rolled her eyes with a sigh. He looked away for a second, and huffed a puff of air through his nose, with a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

He looked back at Leliana, whose eyes remained on him. His smile vanished from his face, and he bit against his inner lip, and drew his eyes away from her once again.

"We'd like to have a word," Cassandra said, her voice even and low.

Brady nodded and replied. "Of course."

"With her," Leliana said. Eleanor perked up and approached the bars. "Alone."

Brady's shoulders deflated and he stepped away from the bars. Cassandra fiddled with the keys and unlocked the cell door.

Eleanor took a step through the threshold, and was abruptly stopped by Brady's hand on her shoulder. He let out a sigh, and slid his hand off of her shoulder. Eleanor nodded, and gave him a reassuring grin, her eyes soft on his.

Brady slapped his back against the cell wall and slid down onto the floor. He watched Cassandra close and lock the cell door, then disappear down the corridor, the light of the flame growing dimmer and dimmer, until it was out of his sight. He threw his head back and exhaled.

The door shut, and he shut his eyes tight. His mind shifted through images of memory to occupy the time. He wondered if Grace was okay, if she was promised to some noble in his absence, and if she was happy. He thought of his father: not the man he contested with at the dinner table, but the man he was before, when he would share glances with his mother during a bedtime story, then give her a small kiss goodnight when he thought Brady was not looking.

His eyes opened at the sound of the creaking door.

"Are you here to measure my neck?" Brady called out, "Don't bother. I'd rather be run through with a sword, or thrown overboard, or even drink myself to death." He paused and cocked a brow, "That last one, is it possible? Can we make it possible?"

"Not possible," Cullen's voice replied, "Though I did bring you something I confiscated from the Templars upstairs if you care to do it yourself."

Brady laughed and returned to the bars to see Cullen in a loose tunic and brown trousers with a sack of mead in his hand.

Brady pushed his hand through the bar and shook Cullen's hand with a grin. Cullen smiled at Brady with warmth, and released his grip on Brady's hand.

"It's been awhile," Brady murmured.

Cullen nodded, "Too long." He crossed his arms. "Though, I wish you would have kept yourself out of trouble in my absence."

"Now, what would be the fun in that?" Brady jested.

"Cassandra is displeased. When she heard that you had stolen the dagger for Florianne-"

"She wanted me dead, I assume?"

"More or less, yes."

"And now?"

"Now, She- well, I do not know. They have not told me anything since your arrest. I do not know if I am relieved, or concerned."

Brady sighed. "It looks bad, Cullen. I know it does."

Cullen wrinkled his forehead. "Bad? Bad is an understatement. Leliana's report makes it look like you have gone completely rogue. You were caught with Florianne, of all people."

"She forced me to-"

"And you kissed her?"

Brady stopped, then groaned. His hands covered his eyes, then slid down his cheeks, pulling down his brows and eyelids. He paced the cell and pointed his finger at Cullen.

"I didn't kiss her, she kissed me," Brady protested, digging his pointed finger into his chest. He stood still and cocked his head. "That was in Leliana's report?"

Cullen nodded his head. "Oh, yes." He swung around and kicked a wooden chair that sat against the wall towards Brady. Cullen sat and leaned back with his arms crossed. "The ink was particularly darker there, as well. It really stood out on the parchment."

Brady craned his neck towards the ceiling, "What am I going to do?"

"Well," Cullen cocked a brow. "You can start by telling me who in the void that woman is."

* * *

Eleanor sat and sifted through pages of parchment on a mahogany table that sat in a tiny room far from the cell she was held. Two braziers with dim torchlight flickered against opposite walls. Leliana and Cassandra stood over Eleanor as she read the parchment.

Cassandra sighed and circled the table. She placed her arms on the table and leaned forward, staring at Eleanor.

Leliana remained quiet at Eleanor's side, reading over her shoulder and shooting short glances at Eleanor, whose face remained stoic page after page.

Eleanor set the stack of parchment down and looked at Cassandra.

"Yes," Eleanor said. "The Dagger of Din'an Hanin is what they wanted. They orchestrated everything: Taking and using me to get to Brady, having him steal the dagger from Morrigan, then framing it perfectly enough for you, Leliana, to blame him."

Eleanor raised the stack of papers and handed them to Leliana. Leliana's eyes scanned the paper again, and softly sighed.

Cassandra hung her head. "This is a mess," She narrowed her eyes at Eleanor. "And to find you in the middle of it…"

Eleanor knitted her brows together. "With all due respect, Most Holy, I much rather be not involved at all, if I had my way."

"Does the Empress know where you are?" Cassandra prodded.

"No she does not," Eleanor nodded. "She believes I am in The Free Marches. I tried to send a distress signal, but that blighted Templar Samson voided my magic."

Cassandra lifted her hands off of the table and turned her back to Eleanor. She let out a disgusted sigh. "We played right into their hands."

"How could they have known who you were?" Leliana shook her head. "Celene was very thorough with your records, expunging them all."

"The Ostwick Circle," Eleanor replied. "When it fell, all it took was to know where to look. I would not doubt if Samson knew the name of every mage that ever set foot in there."

Leliana thought for a moment, then murmured, "Does he know?"

Cassandra perked up and turned around, awaiting an answer. Eleanor flickered her eyes between the two. She tucked a misplaced blonde hair behind her ear and shut her eyes.

"No," She murmured. "And if it is all the same to you two, I would like to keep it that way."

Leliana snickered. "You do not believe he has the right to know?"

Eleanor looked up at Leliana and sneered, "No, Nightingale. I have been reunited with my son, and that is all that should matter."

Leliana took a sharp breath, then retreated her tongue and murmured, "Very well."

"Your reunion may be short lived," Cassandra said. "Word has already begun to spread of his arrest. I tried to stifle the whispers, but I am afraid they are too loud."

"He can handle it," Eleanor protested. She waved them off, "He has been through worse, and this is no different."

Leliana stressed, "The people want his head."

Eleanor cocked her head. "Will you give it to them?"

Leliana's forehead crinkled. "No."

Eleanor smirked, "Then what is the problem?"

Leliana's cheeks heated and turned a bright shade of red. She pressed her lips into a thin line and snarled, "Just because the chantry will not execute him, what is to stop does any random villager from thrusting a dagger into him?"

"No faith in your followers, Nightingale?" Eleanor prodded.

"What would be more appropriate of winning the Maker's favor than slaying Andraste's Unchosen?"

Eleanor fell silent. She looked away from Leliana and stared at the flame dancing against the condensation that soaked the stone walls. She huffed and rested her hand in her hands.

"What are you going to do?" Eleanor asked in a whisper.

"We cannot return to the Grand Cathedral without that dagger," Cassandra said, her voice low and hard. "If he remains in Chantry custody, at least he will be safe."

Eleanor snickered. "Do you hear yourself? You are not subjecting him, _my son_ , to imprisonment."

"Then what would you have me do? We are running out of options." Cassandra's sharp voice broke off into thought.

"Simple," Eleanor clicked her tongue. "Get the dagger back."

Leliana scoffed, "They could be halfway across the continent by now. I would need resources, agents-"

"You take Brady. He knows them, what they wish to do with your dagger," Eleanor dug her finger into the table. "You will have an advantage over them."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, "And leaves you free to return to Briala and Celene."

"You release me into Chantry custody, assign me to someone you can trust, who will not breathe of a word of who I am, and I will help in any way I can."

Cassandra's face softened. She straightened and raised her nose. "Celene will throw a tantrum she hears her 'Gray Wolf of Ghislain' is in Chantry custody."

Eleanor chuckled. "Then allow me to send word to the Marquise that I am being held willingly."

"Most Holy," Leliana spoke up. "I do not believe tasking myself and Brady together is a good idea."

Eleanor perked up and tilted her head. "What? You two don't play nice?"

"I am afraid we will be inefficient," Leliana said. "Together, that is."

"You have worked together well in the past," Cassandra said. "I believe you could put differences aside and as professionals, Leliana."

"You are tasking me to do the impossible," Leliana breathed, shaking her head and leaning against the table.

Eleanor grinned and placed a hand on top of Leliana's. They shared a glance, and Eleanor chuckled, "Darling, I may be the best… but you are a close second."

* * *

Brady and Cullen passed the sack of mead back and forth between the bars. Cullen rocked back and forth in his chair with boisterous laughter, and Brady clutched at his stomach, laughing enough to void him of any sound. Brady fell to the floor and exhaled with a whistle. He looked up to the ceiling, then turned to Cullen.

Cullen leaned forward and took a sip of mead. He tossed it to Brady and fell back into his chair. He wiped the moisture off of his lips with his gloved hand. Cullen sighed and straightened in his chair as Cassandra, Leliana, and Eleanor entered and approached him. Brady rushed to his feet and took another swig of mead.

Cullen stood up and bowed his head, "Lady Eleanor, a pleasure to meet you. Brady was just telling me all about you."

"Commander," Eleanor chuckled, "I am no lady, but the pleasure is all mine."

Cassandra's eyes connected with the sack of mead in Brady's hand. She narrowed her eyes at Cullen, "I see you two were enjoying yourselves."

Leliana unlocked Brady's cell and motioned for him to exit. He pulled Eleanor into a tight embrace. He separated, and rested his hands atop her shoulders.

"So," His eyes darted between Cassandra and Leliana. "Are we free to go?"

Cassandra and Leliana shared a quick glance and shook their heads.

"Not exactly," Cassandra replied. "Consider finding and returning the dagger your redemption."

Brady slid his hands off of Eleanor's shoulders and bit down on his bottom lip. He cocked his head to the side with a smile. "I am to find the dagger? And what of my mother?"

"She will assist us from here, in Cullen's custody," Leliana answered.

Brady narrowed his eyes at Leliana, "Did you say, 'us'?"

"I did," Leliana replied. She raised a brow, "Do you oppose, because – "

"No, of course not."

"Right."

"So 'we'…?"

"Mhm."

"Are to get the dagger back from them?"

Eleanor groaned, "Brady, drop your nonsense."

"Yes, mother," Brady bowed his head. "When do we depart?"

"As soon as possible," Cassandra said. "We must not waste time on-"

Cassandra was interrupted by the rustling of the stone walls, lifting dirt off of their surface and carrying a cloud of brown mist to fall onto the floor. A booming sound forced itself against their ears, and they shook with the stone, trying to keep their balance on the vibrating floor. They shared bewildered glances, and turned their attention to two huffing Templars that crowded the doorway out of the holding cells.

"Commander, there's a mage outside of our walls hurling fire balls!" One Templar said, his voice heaving through the metal of his helmet.

The other Templar, vacant of a helmet, winced as the walls shook again. "She's going to kill us all, she is!"

Cullen shook his head and groaned. He mumbled under his breath, "Templars afraid of magic, I can't believe-," He sighed and raised his voice, "Gather whatever men we have, and meet me at the front door."

Cullen stormed through the corridor and rushed towards the front door. They all followed, and were greeted by a group of armed Templars ready at the front door.

Cullen held his hand up, and gazed through the barred window of the door. He turned his head and took a breath, and ordered his men to stand down.

"I have a feeling she's here to speak to both of you." Cullen said to Leliana and Brady, both their faces riddled with confusion.

Brady cocked an eyebrow and nudged Cullen away from the barred window. "Maker, have you no mercy?" He mumbled.

Morrigan stood close to the tiny garrison, picking at her nails with one hand and holding her staff in another, with her face expressing boredom. She lifted her staff, and tossed a low energy fireball against the wall again without tearing her eyes away from her nails, and continued to wait.

Brady turned to Leliana, "It's Morrigan."

Leliana raised her brows, "Oh."

"She may want her dagger back."

Brady peeked again, and felt Leliana's elbow in his rib as she tried to peer through the small window. He shot her an annoyed look, and planted his feet. Leliana huffed and pushed against his chest.

"Stop being such a genlock and share," Leliana fussed.

He took a step back, and allowed her the entire space in front of the door. She through a narrow eyed gaze over her shoulder and thanked him. He nodded with a smile, and crossed his arms.

Leliana watched Morrigan for a moment, then turned towards Brady. She took a breath and straightened, "I have decided that the best course of action is for you to speak with her."

"Me? Are you mad?"

"She did not see me at the estate, so there is no reason for her to believe I stole her dagger."

"She can turn into a dragon, Leliana."

"You have handled dragons before," Leliana said, halfheartedly.

Brady's eyes widened, "Never without a Knight Enchanter."

"Or without me," Cassandra chimed in.

Brady nodded and pointed at Cassandra. She rolled her eyes and waved him off. He looked back at Leliana, and scratched his stubble. Another fireball hit against the wall, and Brady groaned, "Fine, fine. Let me through."

Brady walked out of the door. Outside, the air was damp and smelled of freshly fallen rain. The garrison was less impressive from the outside. It looked unused for years, with the earth grabbing onto the stone with moss and vines infecting the building and turning it a dark shade of green.

Morrigan stood closer to the building than Brady judged through the door window.

"Morrigan," Brady called out and tipped his head forward. "Nice to see you."

She looked up from her nails, and tipped her head to the side with a smirk. "Ah, Inquisitor, finally you emerge."

He drew closer to her, "I understand why you're mad, but -"

"Mad? No, I have kept my wits. Furious, 'tis the word." She shifted her staff and pointed the tip towards him. "Where is my dagger?"

Brady raised his open hands to the sides of his chest and tipped his head to the side, "I can explain everything, but you have to listen- "

"And why should I? You allowed for violence and danger to enter my home, where my son is, and stole something of value that belonged to me and me alone."

"If you could lower your staff, Morrigan, that would be great," He said, taking another step forward.

Morrigan snickered, and released a low energy ball of electricity from her staff. It lifted him off of his feet and he fell on his back hard on the ground. He groaned, then murmured to himself, "Probably deserved that."

He was slow to rise. His breath was unsteady as the electricity stung his skin, and burned his prosthetic hand that lit and emitted a violent violet light. He forced himself up and hardened his face.

"I was set up, Morrigan. I would never do a thing to you or your family, and I do believe you know that."

She stiffened, but lowered her staff.

Brady continued, "If you would come inside, I will tell you everything. Just please, don't do that again."

She looked at him, then fixed her staff onto her back. She raised her hand and waved it towards the garrison. He wiped his mouth, and stumbled towards the door.

It was dusk by the time Brady and the others explained the situation to Morrigan. She, at first, was reluctant to believe a word out of Brady's mouth, but accepted his word after Leliana confirmed his story. Morrigan explained the dagger was not a play toy for the chantry, nor anyone.

"The power that dagger possesses could wipe out a faction in mere minutes," Morrigan explained, "It gains power with every life it takes."

They settled into the dining hall of the garrison, where a map of Thedas was sprawled across the surface. Brady stood hunched over the map, calculating every route they may have taken, and deducing where the dagger would be most valuable.

Morrigan was at his side, tracing rivers and streams that ran through Ferelden, and thinking out loud to Brady, who returned his own thoughts to her. They stood over that map for several hours. Pages of parchment stacked on the table with their notes and ideas.

Leliana coordinated her agents to infiltrate black market dealers and attempt to trace the dagger, if bought. Cassandra approved of Leliana's agents to buy the dagger upright if it surfaces on the market, but both knew it would be a miracle for the dagger to be returned that easily.

Cassandra and Cullen sat together, far from Brady and Morrigan, and dug through old reports about Samson, Calpernia, and Florianne, attempting and failing at finding any sort of lead. Cullen believed a pattern would emerge from their past, but Cassandra remained skeptical, and silently read through the old pages of parchment.

Leliana sat alone at the far side of the room at a small table that sat underneath a window. Eleanor joined her with two glasses of wine. She thanked her, and they watched Brady and Morrigan, chuckling at their arguments and finding interest in their ideas.

Brady raised his eyes off of the map and looked to Eleanor and Leliana. Eleanor raised her glass and Brady shook his head and let out a small chuckle, then returned his eyes back to the map.

Leliana's eyes lingered on him, and she felt a smile slip onto her lips. Eleanor caught the moment, took a sip of her glass, and hummed as she placed it down on the table.

"It is rather interesting where you rest your eyes, Nightingale," Eleanor saw in a low voice. "And rather concerning, if I may be so bold."

Leliana turned her head to Eleanor and cocked a single brow. "And where do my eyes 'rest,' exactly?"

"On my son."

Leliana scoffed and took a sip of wine. She tucked her legs underneath the table and leaned towards Eleanor. Eleanor did the same, and they met in the middle of the table with hushed voices.

Eleanor's face hardened. "Tell me I am wrong."

"You are wrong," Leliana replied, narrowing her eyes.

Eleanor fell back into her chair and shook her head. She glanced over at Brady, then back at Leliana. She took another sip of wine, and puffed a sardonic laugh from her chest.

"I wonder who I am looking at: The Inquisitor or Brady?"

Leliana chuckled, "He only gets that crinkle between his eyes when he's planning something."

"That's very observant."

"When you spend hours in a war room with someone, you notice the little things."

"He grew into such a good man, Leliana. I wonder if I will ever forgive myself for missing that. We don't get to enjoy those moments, do we? Our work, it consumes us. We let a greater good take the place of family, love, happiness…" Eleanor stopped, and sighed. She looked over at Leliana with a half-smile. "But only the strongest can make that sacrifice, and here we are."

Leliana hummed into her glass and set it down, wiping a drop of red away from her lips. "Love has a way of wedging itself into your life. You cannot stop it - most of the time."

"There is no room for it. As much as we try, it always blows up in our faces. When you're my age, maybe you'll understand."

"With all due respect, I wish I never do."

Leliana excused herself and walked towards the large dining table. She stood at Morrigan's side and followed the patterns of ink they traced onto the map. Leliana tapped on the map with her finger.

"So, Denerim, then?" Leliana said.

Morrigan nodded. "Unfortunately, 'tis the only plausible option, and even then 'tis still no more than a hunch."

Brady scratched his chin. "It's a start, and at this point it's all we have."

"It is not far from here. We could get there by midnight."

Brady nodded, "And no one will recognize us on the road."

"Exactly," Leliana said. She shrugged, "It would make getting into the city much easier."

"Hold a moment, Inquisitor," Morrigan said. She looked down at his hand. "We must deal with _that_ before you make any attempt to depart."

He raised his hand and examined it, "Why? Is it broken?"

"How do you think I found you here? I sensed that ghastly contraption at the ball," Morrigan said. "If I could follow the signature, I have no doubt Calpernia would be able to as well."

"Can you disable it?"

Morrigan tilted her head and grabbed his hand. At her touch, it glowed a vibrant violet and lit against their faces. She looked up at him and nodded.

"'Tis not a difficult task, I believe I could disable the magic, yes," She looked down at the hand. "However, 'twill not be a pleasant experience for you."

"Does it involve drilling or cutting?"

Morrigan narrowed her eyes, "No, nothing of the sort."

"Then it's no worse than what they did to me," Brady said. "Do it."

"You may wish to bite down on something," Morrigan warned.

Brady shook his head and urged her to continue. She wrapped her fingers around the metallic hand and smoke rose from her touch. Brady growled as Morrigan murmured a spell in old what sounded like old Elvhen. His veins pumped fire for a moment and forced Brady to grip the table.

Morrigan pried her hands off of his hand and crossed her arms. "That should do it."

Brady flexed his fingers, "It's still operational?"

Morrigan nodded, "Of course. I only disabled the signature. The magic within you is what controls that monstrosity."

Brady made a fist, and released. He looked at Leliana with a nod.

"To Denerim," He smiled. "Heard it is lovely this time of year."


	6. Dancing, Deception, Welcome to Denerim!

The caravan ran across the dirt road with the sounds of hooves and wheels splashing against shallow puddles, being the only noise in the night. Brady and Leliana sat opposite each other, quiet and watching the trails the caravan's wheels left in the dirt road as it pressed onto Denerim.

"I know this isn't ideal," Brady said, catching Leliana's attention.

She tipped her head. "What isn't?"

"Don't make me say it."

"You started it."

He crossed his arms. "You know what I'm talking about."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "No, I'm afraid I do not."

"Me and you… working together… after everything…"

"We have a mission. That's it."

He nodded. "Right."

They fell silent for several minutes. Brady fought his heavy eyelids and hoped the city lights in the distance weren't as far as they seemed. His eyes began to shut, until a kick to his boot jolted him upright.

"Don't you dare," Leliana warned.

He slunk back into his seat and shut his eyes again, "Can't you just wake me when we get there?"

"No," She said. He opened a single eye and saw her disgruntled expression. "If I don't get the pleasure of a nap, neither do you."

"You didn't spend a night in a cell. It's _really_ hard to get a good night's rest on a hard wet floor."

"If I had known-"

"I know, I know. I'm not blaming you," He waved her off and closed his eyes again. "No harm done. Now, if you would kindly-"

She kicked his boot again, and he groaned, sitting up in his seat and stretching his legs out.

"Fine," he said, defeated. "When I get cranky and unbearable, just remember," He pointed his finger with a small smirk, "your fault."

She hummed playfully, "I'm sure I can handle it."

"So…" He cleared his throat. "How have you been?"

"Seriously?"

"What? I don't see you making conversation."

"We could talk about your mother…"

"No. Try again."

She flicked her hair to the side and crossed her arms, "You and Florianne, that was a sight to see."

"Maker…"

"What? You wanted conversation, I am _simply_ making conversation."

"No, no you're not," He wagged his finger at her. "You're- you're-"

"I'm what, Brady?"

"She kissed me-"

"That is _not_ what I am talking about-"

He rolled his eyes and fell back against his seat. "Like the void you weren't. Look, I'm sorry you had to see that… Just as sorry as I am that I had to experience it."

"You don't owe me an apology-"

"Right-"

"It's not like we are together."

He stopped, and sighed, directing his eyes to the back of the caravan. "Right. Let's just- focus on the mission."

"Fine."

The caravan rolled on, inching closer to the bright city lights in the distance.

The caravan dropped them into Denerim's market district. It was around midnight. The shops were closed, but the sound of bards and lutes echoed through the empty streets from the tavern. Leliana walked towards the music, and Brady followed.

Brady looked up and read the tavern sign, "'Gnawed Noble Tavern.' How very Ferelden."

Leliana stopped short of the door and pressed on Brady's chest. She narrowed her eyes and held a fierce gaze that gave him pause.

"The barkeep is known to associate with the more unsavory patrons," Leliana said. "If she does not know of the dagger, she may know someone who does."

Brady lowered his voice. "So your plan is?"

She looked through the glass window and pointed at the bar. "You sit on the far side of the tavern and stay alert for any suspicious activity."

"And you?"

"I will take a more direct approach," Leliana said, staring through a window and at the barkeep. "Try to- coerce- the information out of her."

"Well, I could do that. Why do I have to sit and watch?"

She pursed her lips to the side, "You are not exactly her type."

"Right, of course. Carry on."

She looked up at him and shook her head with a smirk, then walked into the tavern. Leliana walked towards the barkeep and took a seat. Brady delayed his entrance into the tavern, and entered once Leliana received a tall glass of wine.

He sat and watched the barkeep from a booth in the corner of the tavern. The barkeep, tall and slender with straight blonde hair pulled tight into a ponytail that reached towards the center of her back, leaned against her elbows that sat atop the counter. Leliana looked at the barkeep with bright eyes, her smile slight and shaping her lips in a way that rendered the barkeep transfixed with every word.

The barkeep leaned in and whispered into Leliana's ear. Leliana nodded with a smile at the barkeep and continued the conversation with a short sip of wine.

Brady shook his head and stifled a laugh. He wished to hear their conversation, and only imagined how Leliana shaped her words with that slick smile that could charm anyone out of their last coin, or dispel their darkest secrets in mere minutes. The poor barkeep didn't stand a chance, he thought, watching Leliana's claws sink deeper with every giggle and coy glance.

He envied the barkeep in a shallow way. He'd never want to be the subject of Leliana's professional manipulation, but he missed that seductive stare her pale blue eyes shared on cold mornings, persuading him to stay in bed for a few more hours, or when she wanted something- and those soft eyes making him feel only he could give it to her.

He wondered if Leliana knew how lovely her voice sounded when it dipped deep into her Orlesian accent. It was rhythmic, like a virtuoso playing a musical masterpiece never heard by another's ears, and played to perfection only for him. She must have known, he thought, and perhaps it was one of her favorite tools to use.

Though, perhaps she didn't. It came out of her so natural at times- when she succumbed to the heaviness of sleep, or when their skin pressed against each other and his lips lingered over hers, sharing labored breaths with her fingertips pushing indents into his back- she would slip into her native tongue, limiting his knowledge of the Orlesian language to sleepy declarations of love and commands in uncontained whispers against his ear.

 _That poor barkeep,_ his mind repeated, _she doesn't stand a chance._

"Can I get you anything, sweetheart?"

He jumped at the sound of the serving girl standing beside him. She stood with a calm demeanor, with lazy, dark curls framing her face and falling down her chest, and brown eyes with a distinct orange tint that popped underneath her dark eyebrows. He apologized and asked how long she had been there.

"Only a moment," She said. "You look like you could use a drink. Rough day?"

"Rough year."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Me too."

She squinted her eyes and smiled. "Something strong, then?"

"Whiskey, please. If you have any."

She nodded, "Of course."

He watched her waltz behind the bar. Her presence didn't disturb the barkeep's conversation with Leliana, both ignoring the girl rummaging through the mugs and glasses and grabbing a tall bottle of whiskey. She returned and placed two glasses on the table, and slid him the entire bottle. She sat in the booth across from him and pointed at her glass. He looked at her with confusion, but filled both glasses and placed the bottle between them.

She thanked him and took a sip. She winced and groaned. "Wow. It tastes like burning."

"You get used to it," He picked up his glass and swirled the brown liquor, "Now that you have hijacked my table, it's only fair you give me your name."

"I'm Trishara, 'Trish' for short."

"Brady," he spoke into his glass. He took a drink and set it down with a sigh. "Just 'Brady.' Do you usually join random drunks drowning their sorrows?"

"No, I don't, and I'm sorry, but it's just - We don't get many of your type here. Well, the 'drowning your sorrows' type, sure. But you seem… different? Handsome _and_ troubled. Can't blame a girl for being a bit curious, right?"

"I suppose not."

She leaned her elbows against the table and propped her head up on her folded hands. "So, what brings you to the dustiest city in Thedas?"

Brady glanced over at Leliana, still engaged in conversation with the barkeep. Their faces were inches away from each other, with Leliana tracing the rim of her wine glass with a single finger. He sighed, and returned his eyes to Trish.

"The off chance a beautiful woman would take pity and share a drink with me."

"Is it possible for a man to be charming and cheesy at the same time?"

He leaned forward with a small smile, "M'lady, no one has ever accused me of being 'charming.'"

She narrowed her eyes with a smirk. "I bet you get everything you want with that smile."

"Less than you think," He fell against the back of his seat, his eyes flickering to Leliana.

Patrons of the tavern hollered for a serving girl, and Trish sighed, she stood up slowly and grinned.

"Duty calls," She eyed the bottle. "Keep it, just don't tell anyone I gave it to you."

He nodded, "Will do. Nice meeting you, Trish."

"Here's to hoping we'll meet again," She said, finishing her drink with a quick flick of the glass, then grumbling as she walked away.

He chuckled and saw her brush shoulders with a heavily armored man approaching the bar. He stole Leliana and the barkeep's attention away from each other. The man ordered a drink, and the barkeep nodded, delivering the drink with haste.

Brady perked up at the sight of a piece of parchment resting at the foot of the glass, imitating a napkin. Brady watched the man read the note, then slip it into the small pack at his side. He paced the tavern and finish his drink with a quick slurp, then set the glass on an empty table.

He disappeared into a corridor on the right side of the tavern. Brady stood up and followed him to the corridor. He watched the man disappear into a room at the end of the hallway. He continued to follow, but paused when the door swung open and a hooded woman stepped out.

She walked towards him and stopped at his feet. He looked down at the woman with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth, and she pressed her finger against her lips, widening her grey blue eyes.

She peered behind him. "Not here," She breathed.

He looked over his shoulder, but only for a moment, as the woman thrusted him into an empty bedroom.

She shut the door behind them and removed her hood as she walked further into the room. She stopped and turned, pulling her blonde hair out of a bun and running her fingers through her knotted hair.

"A moment, please." She said, her accent Fereldan.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Listen, you're cute and all, but I'm not into-"

"What? Oh, you think I'm – oh _, no_." She wrapped her hair into a messy, tangled bun and took a deep breath. She smiled and held out her hand. "Inquisitor Trevelyan, a pleasure. I am Anora Mac Tir, chief advisor to the Crown, former Queen Consort of Ferelden, and daughter of-"

"Teryn Loghain, yes," Brady shook her hand. "I have heard stories about you. Though, they all end with you stuck in the tallest tower in the country."

"That is only mostly true," She snickered. "After the landsmeet, no matter what Eamon said, Alistair's conscious could not bear the idea of locking someone away for the rest of their life. He offered me freedom for my loyalty and assistance. After everything that I had lost, it had seemed fair enough."

"A pleasure, Lady Anora." He pulled his hand away and bowed his head.

She raised her brows, "What are you doing in Denerim? I saw Leliana, and - what I have gathered from experience- is never a good sign."

"That man in the armor, who was he?"

"Part of the King's guard. The bartender informed him you were here, and he told me." Anora said, "Now your turn."

"Hold a moment," He raised his hand. "Did she know of Leliana?"

"Oh Maker no," Anora shook her head with a chuckle. "Just you."

A hard group of knocks shook the bedroom door. She sighed, and rushed to the window next to the bed.

"What are you doing?" Brady asked.

"This conversation isn't over," She pushed the window open and began to crawl through. She looked over her shoulder. "We must speak in a safe place. Meet me inside the Denerim Chantry in an hour. Alone. Don't be late, inquisitor."

She disappeared through the window. The door swung open and allowed for a burly man and woman to enter, full of laughter as they stumbled into the bedroom. Brady raised a brow at them, and they apologized with sincerity, claiming they thought the door was stuck. Brady excused himself and bid them a goodnight. He reentered the tavern and heard the door slam behind him.

He saw Leliana still at her seat. The blonde barkeep filled her glass of wine, and the women shared a laugh together. He approached them and took a seat next to Leliana.

"Whiskey, my lady. Please." He said, cutting through their laughter.

The barkeep swallowed and reached for a bottle behind her, filling a short glass and sliding it to Brady. Brady shifted his eyes to Leliana, and smiled into his glass when their eyes connected. He saw her trying her hardest to hold her composure and not sneak a sneer in his direction, which made his grin grow.

The barkeep ignored Brady and focused on Leliana, leaning forward and continuing flirtatious small talk between calculated giggles and fabricated interest. Leliana acquired the façade of a drunk Orlesian in the city for the first time -Brady gathered- from whispers he caught.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the barkeep's attention again. He pointed at his empty glass, and she nodded, refilling his glass with haste.

He turned his head to Leliana with a smirk, "Come here often?"

He took a sip of his drink. She narrowed her eyes and tucked a displaced red hair behind her ear.

"No… I had heard good things of this tavern." She replied, glancing over at the smiling barkeep with soft eyes. "Thought I should at least try it out."

He narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn't think an Orlesian would be caught dead in a place like this. I mean, without complaining they may get dirt on their shoes," Brady chuckled and spoke in a stressed Orlesian accent, "'Oh, Maker… my in-fashion feathered slippers! How can life go on now?'"

Leliana scoffed, "Your accent could use some work."

He took a sip of his drink, then wiped his chin with his shirt sleeve. The barkeep leaned in and whispered in Leliana's ear, then stared at Brady. Leliana nodded, and pursed her lips.

"You know what, Orlais," Brady winked, stood up and held out his hand. "Prove me wrong."

She stared at his hand, and looked up at him. "I have nothing to prove to you."

Brady glanced over his shoulder at the minstrel, and pulled on a smirk. "You don't, but it would be quite _Orlesian_ to reject a dance from a lowly Free Marcher like myself."

She sighed, and slipped her hand into his, and she insisted to the barkeep their conversation would continue very shortly.

As they walked away from the bar, she murmured, "This better be important."

"What? You love to dance."

She leered at him. "If you are simply looking for a drunken dance partner, let me suggest the dark haired serving girl."

His eyes widened and he snickered, "Oh, so you did see that? Thought you were far too busy ogling that pretty blonde to notice."

"I could sit right back down, you know," She shot her eyes at Trish serving drinks to rowdy mercenaries at the far side of the tavern. "She's probably dying for an escape right now."

Brady led her to a small clearing in the middle of the tavern, where only two other couples swayed to the minstrel's song. He looked at her and smiled at the small crinkles on her forehead.

"Be that as it may," He chuckled, securing a hand against her waist. He led her into a steady sway, "I'd never dance to a tune without you."

"You need to be more cautious," She pulled him close and raised her lips to his ear as they found their steps within the pace of the music. "The barkeep knows who you are. That serving girl could easily-"

"Careful, I might have to accuse you of caring."

She rolled her eyes, "I _care_ that you have been compromised."

Brady turned his back to the barkeep. "I know she knows. I ran into Anora. I'm meeting her at the chantry. Thought I'd let you know."

The tempo slowed, and they swayed further from the barkeep.

"Anora? Interesting. I can meet you there when I'm finished with her."

Brady chuckled, sending a vibration through them. "Take your time. She seems to like you well enough-"

"Oh, stop."

"Joking, joking… kinda." He glanced to the barkeep, who shot daggers at him with a sneer while she wiped down the counter. He returned his eyes to Leliana. "I think she's jealous."

"Perfect," Leliana mused. "Quick, kiss me."

"Woah, how much have you had to drink?"

"You need to get to the chantry and I need to look like I absolutely detest you. So just… do it, alright?"

"You don't have _any_ better ideas?"

"Not really, no."

He sighed, "For the record, this is _exactly_ what happened with Florianne."

She gave him a stern look, "Brady Trevelyan, don't you dare compare me to-"

He pressed her against him with a hand on the small of her back and the other tangling his fingers into her hair, catching the impact of his lips colliding with hers. He lost himself in the heat of her short, escaping breaths. The taste of cherry wine danced on his tongue as he felt her kiss back, her hand clenching onto the fabric of his shirt.

Leliana shoved him away with a loud huff. They shared a look that lasted a second, but felt like centuries. She wiped her lips with her hand.

She spoke quickly and hardened her face, "I'm going to slap you now. See you soon."

"Wait, what-"

Her hand smacked his cheek and he groaned. He stared with a puzzled look and watched her stomp away and reclaim her spot at the bar. The barkeep and Leliana both eyed him, exchanging whispers with looks of disgust.

Brady stretched his jaw and rubbed his cheek with his hand and walked to the exit of the tavern.

"'Kiss me,' she says," He muttered under his breath as he walked out the door and through the misty rain that befell on the marketplace, "'I'm gonna slap you,' she says."

He continued to mumble as he rubbed away the stinging on his cheek. He reached the chantry and looked over his shoulder, then approached the large wooden doors. They were unlocked, and he cautiously entered.

Inside, it was large with two balconies parallel to each other and stretched towards the altar. He looked around, but saw no sight of Anora, or anyone else. He continued down the aisle to the altar of Andraste that stood lit up with candlelight.

"Inquisitor," He heard a hushed voice call out.

Anora stood leaning from behind a tall bookcase with her hood down, and motioned for him to come closer.

"Why are you whispering?" He said as he approached her.

She furrowed her brows, "There are people sleeping, have a care."

"Right, right, my apologies," He murmured. "Why meet in secret?"

"It causes a stir when people recognize me, I am sure you can relate."

He nodded, and took a seat at the fireplace that lit the bookcases that enclosed the space. She took a seat next to him and took a breath.

"You are alone, that is good."

"Leliana will not be far behind," He admitted.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "That's- fine. Now I must know- what brings you?"

"The Dagger of Din'an Hanin - heard of it?"

"The artifact you stole from Fergus, I assume? No, I have never heard of it."

"Well, I need to get it back."

"Or else?"

He shrugged. "Death, decay, and destruction, I'm told."

"Maker," She gasped. "Alistair must know, as soon as possible."

"Of course, but remain discreet, m'lady. We do not want to spook the perpetrators into making rash decisions."

"If this dagger is as dangerous as you say, perhaps we could lend assistance," She nodded and stood up. "Apologize to Lady Leliana for me, but I must return to the castle at once with this."

Brady stood and bid her farewell, and followed her to the main chantry doors. She stopped and turned around.

"A word of advice," She said, her voice soft. "Denerim will not be safe for you. Many of our people wanted to see you hung after they heard you had lost Andraste's gift, and with the news of you stealing from the teryn-"

"Thanks for the advice," Brady leaned in. "So, I should lower my expectations of a parade in my honor, then?"

"Perhaps," A small laugh escaped her, then faded. She placed a hand on his chest, "Just- be careful, Inquisitor. They might have forgotten, but some of us still remember who you truly are."

Her hand fell from his chest, and with a small smile, she exited the chantry. Brady itched the nape of his neck with a heavy sigh. He paced down the aisle and sat at one of the benches, staring at the altar of Andraste. The statue looked worn and older than the one he grew accustomed to in Ostwick. The marble did not shine white; it was tainted grey with dark collections of dust shading the creases in the marble.

He stretched his legs out and exhaled, craning his head back and shutting his eyes. The candlelight flickered underneath his eyelids and painted them shades of red and purple. The echo of pattering feet surrounded the chantry and approached Brady.

He opened one eye and saw a young child- a girl no older than six, Brady guessed- dressed in a nightgown with dark brown hair and plump cheeks staring down at him with her hip pointed and her arms crossed over her chest.

"You're not allowed to be here," She scolded.

He sat up and cleared his throat, "Well, Andraste's knickers! It isn't time for the Chant?"

She pouted and shook her head.

"My goodness, I did it again. I always wake too early. I am sorry, m'lady, truly," he leaned slightly forward and softened his voice. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

She twisted with her hands clasped left to right and looked to the ground, shaking her head. "No. Bad dream."

"What happened?"

She looked at him with droopy eyes and pointed at the ceiling. He hung his head and softened his face.

"The breach?"

She slowly nodded. "The monsters. They came back."

"That is a pretty scary dream," Brady said. "But you know what? It's just a dream. Tomorrow, you'll look up and see it all healed."

She pouted and forced herself past him, bumping into his knees and stepping on his foot. She took a seat beside him on the bench. She looked up at him with doe eyes.

"Can it happen again?"

Brady thought for a moment, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't know the answer. He looked down at her and itched the stubble on his chin, "Andraste, I hope not."

"Mama said Herald saved us," The girl shook her head. "I don't know who Herald is, but he would just come back with his swords and put it back together, right?"

He chuckled, "Herald?"

"He knew Andraste and glowed in the dark and had this really big sword and breathed fire like a dragon," She blew a long breath of air from her chest and giggled.

"Breathed fire?"

She nodded, "If the monsters come back he can fly in with his sword and kill them all."

"See? Then there's nothing to be scared of."

They fell silent for a moment. She sat on her hands and brought her eyes up to him.

"Can you tell me a bedtime story?"

"A bedtime story? I don't think I know any-"

"Mama always told me bedtime stories."

He looked over his shoulder, hoping Leliana would descend down the aisle and help him, but was disappointed. He looked back at the child. Her eyes were glued to him.

He sighed, "What kind of story?"

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, then replied, "Do you know any about Herald?"

He blew out a chest full of air, "I don't think so, kid."

"Oh," She deflated, and looked down at her swinging feet with a frown.

"Andraste preserve me," He murmured, then turned to her, leaning his back against the arm of a pew. "You know, I might know one. But, you have to promise to go to sleep after."

She nodded, and swung her feet onto the pew to face him.

He cleared his throat, "Once upon a time, Herald and his friend, Cully Wully the lion…"

Brady spun a tale about Herald and Cully Wully the lion: two best friends who argued who was a better fighter. The girl doted on Brady, listening to every word, transfixed and following along with her undivided attention. She nuzzled into Brady's side. He tensed and protested her attempt to use him as a pillow, but lost once her doe eyes pleaded with him.

"Did Herald win?" She asked, unblinking with curious eyes, her voice growing soaked with sleepiness.

Brady chuckled, "Herald, in the middle of their tiring brawl, dropped his sword and told Cully Wully that friends should not fight with each other. They stopped fighting, and walked into the sunset together. They lived happily ever after, the end-"

He looked down to see she had fell asleep, with her tiny fists clenching on the loose fabric of Brady's shirt.

The chantry door creaked open. He looked over his shoulder and watched Leliana approach. He raised his finger to his lips and pointed at his side. She raised a brow and peered over the bench.

"You made a friend," Leliana grinned, looking at the sleeping child.

He looked at the girl and slowly shifted in his seat, "I- I don't know what to do."

Leliana sat at the aisle across from him and leaned against the arm. She asked where Anora was, and Brady relayed her apology, and her willingness to help. She said any help would benefit them, and he agreed.

"What about the pretty little barkeep?" He asked.

Leliana sighed, "Nothing. After you left, she told me there is a large bounty on your head, but she doubted anyone would actually have the gall to do it. Well, after she accused me of enjoying that kiss a little too much."

His voice softened. "Did you?"

The child at his side stretched, pushing her arms into Brady's ribs and catching their attention. She looked at Brady and rubbed her eyes, then saw Leliana across from them.

"She's pretty," the child whispered to Brady, then peeked another look at Leliana.

Leliana cocked her head and looked at Brady. "What?"

Brady leaned over and replied with a whisper. "I know."

The child giggled, and it echoed against the walls. She perked up and whispered in Brady's ear, her voice soaked with excitement. "Is that your girlfriend?"

Brady laughed, then pointed over his shoulder to Leliana. "Who, her?"

The girl nodded with a wide smile.

"What is she saying?" Leliana said, attempting to peer over Brady's frame at the girl.

Brady shook his head. The girl pouted and scooted off the bench, dragging her feet to Leliana. Leliana pulled on a smile, and greeted her. The child looked at Brady and pointed.

"Are you his girlfriend?" She asked Leliana with a pouty face that urged for an answer.

Her mouth fell agape and a laugh escaped her. She looked at Brady with widened eyes, then leaned over to her.

"What is your name, darling?" Leliana asked.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes at Brady and held a grin.

"You should- return to your quarters," Brady said. "You need a good night's rest to grow big and strong."

"Like Herald?"

"Like Herald."

Leliana cocked her brow. "Herald?"

He waved her off, and ticked his head toward the hallway at the far side of the chantry. The child groaned. Brady and Leliana stood up and watched her sluggishly disappear down the aisle and into the corridor.

Leliana crossed her arms and shot Brady a smirk, "Herald, huh?"

He looked down at her and rolled his eyes, "Don't you start."

She laughed, and they turned to exit the chantry, with Leliana poking fun at Brady as he tried to justify using himself as a fabled hero in his own fantasy bedtime story.

"Varric would be proud," Leliana said.

Brady puffed his chest out, "Damn right he would."

He followed her out of the chantry and asked where she was taking him.

"A place where we can get some sleep… hopefully." She replied.

He stopped in the middle of the street, "What do you mean, 'hopefully?'" She continued to walk away. He bellowed, "Leliana?"

"Are you coming or not?"

He huffed, then broke into a jog to join her side.


	7. Feelings and Dealings

Leliana led Brady far from the marketplace and retrieved two hidden caches in packs that her agents placed in specified back alleys around the city. Brady carried the packs over each shoulder, murmuring small complaints that made Leliana snicker.

They reached a small establishment and entered. Leliana pressed through the foyer and into a larger room with a stocked bar and tables and booths that occupied most of the space. A few men and women were seated and sharing conversations with drinks.

A woman in Fereldan casual wear lit up at the sight of Leliana. She stepped out from behind the bar and approached them.

"Well, I'll be damned," the woman said, and pulled Leliana into a hug.

"Sanga," Leliana said. "It has been too long."

Sanga pulled away and nodded with a smile, "Too long. What brings you to Ferelden?"

"Business, I am afraid."

Sanga waved her off, "Business and pleasure go together like honey and wine." She looked over Leliana's shoulder and eyed Brady. She smiled, "And you, handsome? You look like you could use a stress reliever."

Brady blinked, and glanced over at Leliana. Leliana laughed, and urged Brady to take a step forward.

"Sanga, this is Brady."

Brady bowed, "Pleasure to meet you, m'lady."

Sanga pursed her lips. Her eyes lingered on Brady. Leliana cleared her throat and recaptured Sanga's attention.

"We are looking for a place to spend the night," Leliana said. "Though, no one can know we are here."

"Secrecy is our specialty," Sanga winked. "Anyone in particular?"

"Anyone? Maker, this is a brothel, isn't it?" Brady said, looking around. He turned to Leliana, "Do you know the location of every whorehouse in Thedas?"

"Pretty _and_ dumb. You're the full package, aren't you?" Sanga said.

Leliana sighed, "We are looking for somewhere to sleep, not someone to sleep with."

"A shame," Sanga said. "But doable. Which room do you prefer?"

"One with clean sheets," Brady said.

Sanga narrowed her eyes and held out her hand. "For seventy silvers, I'll even have the pillows fluffed."

Leliana placed a sovereign into Sanga's hand. "Throw in a bottle of wine and a hot bath drawn."

Sanga nodded, and asked them to take a seat while she prepared their room for the night.

Brady placed the packs on the floor with a huff and sat opposite of Leliana. She looked around the room with a straight, calm face. He followed her eyes, and only imagined what thoughts ran through her mind. He assumed she calculated escape routes and points of interest from her studious expression.

He leaned forward on the tabletop and caught her attention.

"How do you and Sanga know each other?" He asked in a low voice.

"We met during the fifth blight. Damon was asked to clear the place out of some mercenaries, and we met Isabela for the first time right over there," She chuckled, "While Morrigan was arguing with Damon about his flirtation towards Isabela, Alistair and I had a chance to have a few drinks with Sanga. The rest is history."

"You don't talk about that too often," Brady said. "The time during the blight."

"None of us do. The things we had seen," She shook her head. "Would you?"

"I suppose not," He ran his hand against his jaw. "I mean, I thought the blight took my mother away from me, and I hated whenever it was brought up."

"About that," She leaned closer to him. "You didn't want to talk about earlier, but I want to know if you are alright. I cannot imagine how you felt, finding your mother was alive all these years."

"Angry, happy, confused. It's a blessing that she's back in my life, but I can't help but wonder, you know? What was she doing that entire time she was gone?"

"What you are feeling is understandable," Leliana said. "Anybody would be asking the same questions in your position."

"Right? I keep thinking: does she have an entire separate life now? A husband and children far removed from me and my father?"

"Did you ask her?"

"That's the thing, Leliana. She won't tell me where she's been. I want to let it go and be happy that she's back, but I want to know. I need to."

Sanga approached their table and informed them their room was ready. Brady lifted their packs off the floor and followed Sanga to the bedroom.

The room was well lit with candles, and had a bath in a small washroom at the right of the bedroom door. The bed was large, and had a female elf straightening the sheets and a male dwarf fluffing pillows and tossing them against the headboard.

Brady dropped the packs at the foot of the bed and dismissed the elf and dwarf. Leliana walked in with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She placed them atop a small table against the wall and removed her deep purple shawl. She popped the cork off of the wine bottle.

"It is not whiskey, but it should do." She said, filling the two glasses with the dark red wine.

He pulled off his dark brown leather gloves and folded them on top of each other on the table, and sat down. He rolled his sleeves and watched Leliana lift up a glass and point it towards him.

Brady took the glass from her and noticed her eyes lingered on his metallic arm. He followed her eyes, and rolled his sleeve down, covering the deep bruising that colored above the silver cap at his elbow.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," He said. "I can keep it gloved if it bothers you."

She shook her head and took a step towards him, "No, don't."

She placed her glass down and pushed his sleeve up to above his elbow. He turned towards her, allowing her to study the contraption further. She ran her fingers down the cool metallic piping and down to its fingers.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, her eyes focusing on her fingers reascending the contraption.

"Only always," He wriggled his fingers and made a fist. "Alcohol eases the pain, usually… among other things."

Leliana watched the veins in his upper arm protrude. She ran her fingers over the bruising above his elbow and winced, "I cannot imagine what they put you through for this."

He shrugged, and her eyes connected with his, "It's better than nothing at all."

"It's ingenious," She pulled her hand away and cocked her head. "If done correctly, it could help soldiers who had lost a limb in battle."

"Sure," He rolled his sleeve down. "But at what cost?"

She stepped away and picked up her wine glass. He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. It was sweet, with a strong flavor of cherries in the aftertaste. He took a short look at it, then sucked it down until a small ring was left was at the bottom of the glass.

Leliana waltzed into the small washroom with her glass. Brady concentrated his eyes on refilling his glass, but they caught Leliana shed her clothes through the wide open door. The wine glass overflowed onto the table and trickled onto his trousers. He cursed aloud and dabbed the spilled wine with a hand towel he found atop the table.

"What is it?" She called out. She looked through the open door and scoffed. "Oh, chivalry is so dead."

He sighed, and dabbed his trousers with the wine stained hand towel. She pushed the door closed, but it fell slightly ajar. He relaxed in his seat, and heard her step into the tub. He took a sip of wine, slowly bringing his lips to the glass that was still filled to the brim. He slurped the top until it rested comfortably in his glass.

"So," He called out. "Now what?"

Her voice was muffled behind the door. "We knew Denerim was a slim lead at best, and so far, has offered us nothing. Not even a sighting."

"Maybe we're not asking the right people."

"Maybe you're right."

He cleared his throat. "I've been thinking…"

"Dangerous," She snickered.

"What did the chantry want with the dagger?"

"That is a good question."

"That you're not going to answer."

"You should know better than to ask by now."

He took a deep breath and let out a groan. They fell silent for a few moments. Brady finished his second glass of wine, and heard Leliana step out of the tub.

He turned his head to see her standing in front of a mirror in a towel, brushing out her red hair. He noticed that it was longer than he remembered, reaching her shoulder blades rather than just above her shoulders. He snapped his head forward and closed his eyes. He apologized, and focused on the brim of his glass.

She peaked her head out of the washroom and shook her head with a small laugh.

"So, I take it I'm getting the floor tonight?" He said.

"Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know; stealing a dangerous elven artifact, giving it to the enemy, being wanted by the chantry and all of the faithful… take your pick, really."

She walked out of the washroom dressed in a long, black nightgown that hugged the curves of her slender frame and flowed down to her knees. She shook her hair out and let it fall down her back. She reached on the wardrobe and picked up a small dagger, about the size of her hand, and tucked it into a sheath that wrapped around her calf.

He ran his fingers through his hair and took a breath. She looked over her shoulder, and pulled on a bemused grin. She glided to the wine bottle and poured herself another glass. She took a sip and looked at him.

He cleared his throat. "So, the floor."

"You do not _have_ to take the floor," Leliana mused.

"Oh thank The Maker-"

"There are a few chairs to choose from."

"Very funny."

"Viable option, no?"

"You know what," He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "Two can play at your game."

Leliana's eyes widened as he raced towards the bed. She set her wine down and ran towards the bed. He tripped over the foot of the bedframe and plopped his body onto one half of the bed. Leliana sat on the other half of the bed and tried to push him off, but he clung to the headboard and resisted.

"Childish, Brady Trevelyan," She scolded and tapped him with a pillow. "You are childish."

He turned to her on his side, propping himself up on his hand. Her brows pushed together with her arms crossed over her chest, then stretched her legs across the bed, resting her back against the headboard. She looked over to him, and tried to suppress her laugh with her hand, but failed, and they fell into a fit of laughter.

She stopped, and looked away. She bit down on her bottom lip and exhaled.

"I'm sorry," Brady murmured. "Did I do something wrong? Because I'm only kidding- I'll gladly let you have the bed, honestly-"

"No, no, it's just –," She looked at him, her eyes sorrowful and heavy. She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "It's nothing."

He pushed himself up and sat up next to her. His face softened, "Leliana."

Her brows twitched and wrinkled her forehead, "I thought this would be easier."

"They're smart, and had a head start on us. It's going to take more than a day-"

She breathed out a laugh and pushed on his chest with her hand, "Not that. Never mind."

He pushed himself up and propped his back against the headboard and looked at her. He pushed her knee playfully, "Hey, what's wrong?"

She brought her eyes to him, and saw his blue eyes soft on her, with a sincere, small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. She looked away and sighed, shaking her head, staring at her fingers toying with each other.

"It's alright, Brady," She said. "I'm fine."

"If something's bothering you, you know you can tell me, right? I mean, it's me-"

She glanced over at him and sighed, "That's the problem. It's _you_."

"What do you mean?"

"This… us… me and you, working together. It's harder than I expected."

He raised his brows, " _Oh,_ " He hung his head, "Oh."

She knitted her brows together and shook her head, "Being around you is just too easy, which makes this hard, if that makes any sense?" She pushed the palms of her hands onto her forehead and groaned, "I probably sound like such a fool."

"No, no you don't," He said, his voice soft and sincere. "I know what you mean."

"It hasn't even been an entire day, and-"

"It's so easy, it's hard," He repeated.

"Yes," She nodded with a small laugh erupting from her chest.

He chuckled, and a smile lingered on his lips.

She rocked her shoulder into him and pointed at his smile, "That is _exactly_ what I am talking about."

His mouth fell open as he pulled on a smirk, "I haven't done anything."

"Maker, you left me." She sighed.

His smile faded.

"And I want to be mad at you, I _should_ be. But you just- I just-," She exhaled, "Can I ask you something?"

He looked into her eyes, soft and solemn, awaiting an answer. The corners of her mouth pulled on a small frown.

"Anything," He nodded.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She swallowed and shook her head, "I need to know- Why didn't you take me with you? I thought we-" She grimaced. "I don't know what I thought."

"Leliana-"

"We were so good… happy… I just don't understand-"

"I didn't have a choice, The Grand Clerics, Cassandra-"

"I know what they did, and I will never forgive them for that," She sighed and shook her head, "But you left without me, lying through your teeth with those sorry excuses. You did it so easily, like what we had meant nothing to you."

"Easy? Nothing about that was easy. Leliana, you were all that I had. I loved you."

She scoffed, "Could've fooled me."

He blinked, and his throat tightened. The look on her face made his body ache. He couldn't find the words. She deserved more than excuses; she deserved the truth. But, even the truth was not enough for her, he thought.

"After the exalted council, I was in a bad place. And when Cassandra dismissed me from the Grand Cathedral, I felt like I was nothing. Maker, less than nothing," He inched closer to Leliana, "If I got what I wanted, we wouldn't even be here right now. My first thought was to get out of there and take you with me, but I-"

He stopped and swallowed. The memories flashing in his mind made his chest tighten.

"Then why didn't you?" She breathed.

"You've seen how these people look at me. I'm nothing but the man who had a gift from Andraste and had it taken away."

"You thought I cared about what people said about you?"

"No, of course not," He sighed. "Cassandra told me they needed you; the world needed you. And I hated that. Maker, I hated that she was right. I couldn't be selfish, not with this… not with you. What am I compared to the world, Leliana? All those innocent lives… just so I could have you to myself? I couldn't, I just- couldn't."

"Did you ever think about what I might've wanted?" Leliana choked out, her eyes red and narrowed at him.

"I was trying to do right thing. For you, for everyone."

"It just hurt," She shut her eyes and shook her head, "Maker, it still does."

He placed his hand on her shoulder, and recaptured her attention. "Hey," He blew a breath of air from his nose, "I am so sorry."

She rolled her eyes with a snicker.

"Leliana, look at me."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry… sorry for leaving, sorry for hurting you, and sorry that now you have to share a room with me in this dingy brothel."

She laughed at him, despite herself. She turned towards him.

"I can't change the past," He placed a small smile on his face. "But I can make it up to you every day, from this point on."

"And how do you expect to do that?"

"Well, first," He held his hand out. "We start over."

Her brows twitched, and she looked down at his hand with a smirk. "What are you doing?"

"Starting over," He chuckled and cleared his throat. "As… friends."

She raised a brow, "Friends?"

He shrugged, "Friends, if that's okay with you."

She placed her hand in his and shook it. "Friends, then."

"So… 'Buddy'," He smirked.

She raised her brows and pulled her hand back, "As long as you never call me that ever again."

"C'mon, 'pal'."

"Please, stop."

He raised a brow, "'Old chum'?"

"Don't make me stab you."

He raised his hands, "Alright, alright," He scratched the back of his head. "So, do friends share a bed in a brothel?"

"Would you share a bed with Cullen?"

"Who wouldn't? I mean, I always wondered if that pelt of his was comfy enough to cuddle with," Brady stretched his legs out and settled into his pillow, hugging his arms around it. He shut his eyes and spoke through a yawn. "Though, he would take up more space than you."

She chuckled at the thought, and got up from the bed to blow out the candles throughout the room. The room dimmed with each candlelight extinguished, until the only light in the room came from the crack at the bottom of the door from the hallway and the candle at her bedside. She waded through the room, and laid back onto the bed. She peeled the blankets and tucked her legs underneath them.

She tugged at the blankets and groaned, "Brady…"

His soft snores were his only reply. She watched his body rise and fall with his slow, steady breaths. She pulled on the blankets again, and received a bit more of them from underneath his body. He shifted, and turned his body to her.

His face was at peace, and the way his lips were always slightly pouted as he slept brought her back to early mornings with him when she was able to sneak into his quarters in the night at Skyhold. Her heart fluttered in her chest as her mind flashed to those tiny moments she never thought she would cherish as much as she did, and how much she missed waking up beside him when he was gone.

She wondered if he experienced the same feeling she had: if he noticed how cold the morning grew without having each other to keep warm, how empty the bed felt without him, if he missed waking up to groggy greetings through slight smiles and lazy kisses that persuaded them to stay in bed a little longer. Perhaps, he found someone else to share those moments with, maybe even numerous others, to keep his bed warm in her absence.

"Friends," She murmured aloud. She let out a deep breath, "Friends."

She leaned over and blew out the candle.

* * *

Brady awoke in a cold sweat. His clothes clung to his skin and felt constricting. He saw Leliana sound asleep beside him, and steadied his breathing. He rested his head in his hands, the cool metal of his hand soothing his red hot cheeks. He carefully left the bed and stepped out of the room.

He slowly shut the door and walked into the bar. A woman was drying glasses with a hand towel behind the bar. He dragged his feet to a bar stool and plopped into his seat, resting his heavy head in his hands.

"Never seen anything like that in my life," She said.

He looked up to see her staring at his metallic hand, and noticed it was the serving girl he met earlier in the night.

"Trish, right?" He said.

She perked up with a smile, "Oh, 'Brady, just Brady,' a pleasure. When I said I hoped we'd meet again, I didn't expect it to be here. I hope our services were to your liking."

"What? Oh, no. I didn't- I'm not a client, I just-" He pointed towards the rooms.

She chuckled, "Nothing to be ashamed of, we get a lot of men and women who just need to blow off some steam-"

"Seriously, I'm here with a friend of mine."

She shrugged, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He straightened and pushed his brows together, "I don't have to pay for sex-"

She raised a brow and scanned Brady, "I believe that. So, why are you here?"

"Like I said, I am here with a friend."

"And your friend, they don't happen to be a-"

"No, far from one."

She nodded, and placed a glass in front of him. She flicked her chin, staring at his metallic hand. "If I may ask-"

He raised his hand, "Please, don't."

She pursed her lips and hummed, filling the glass in front of him with a dark whiskey. He took a sip, and she watched with curiosity. He placed the glass back onto the counter and ran his hand through his hair.

She turned away and began to fill the cupboard with various sizes of glasses.

"What has you up at the crack of dawn at the glorious Pearl?"

He chuckled, "Would you believe a bad dream?"

"I would," She said as she continued to fill the shelves with glasses. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He spoke into his glass, "Me, too." He took a sip, then set his glass down. "So you work at the tavern and the local brothel? Do you ever sleep?"

She laughed, "During the day, yes. It's not too bad, you know. I get to meet a lot of different people," She looked over her shoulder with a smirk, "Not as interesting as you, of course."

"I am really not as 'interesting' as you think. Quite the opposite, in fact."

She shot him a look of disbelief, then clapped the dust off of her hands. She turned towards the counter and leaned her elbows against it, propping her head in her hands in front of Brady.

"I doubt that," She grinned. "Tall, blonde," She squinted her eyes at him, "Those blue eyes, that scar on your chin… it could really draw a girl in."

"Careful," He shook his finger, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're more than just interested."

She popped up from the counter and folded her hands in front of him, "Perhaps I am."

"That's flattering, m'lady," He smiled with a nod. "But I'm sure you deserve much, much better."

"I can't tell if that's modesty or insecurity behind that smile of yours," She said with her head tilted slightly to the side, causing her lazy curls to fall down on her shoulder, the ends touching the counter.

"Little bit of both," He said, and finished his drink.

"What a world we live in, where a smile is just a pretty lie to hide behind."

"I could be all broody, if you'd like."

"Please, don't," she said evenly. "I prefer the lie, much more enjoyable."

He shook his head with a chuckle, "I can't imagine why anyone would want that."

"Oh?" She narrowed her eyes. Her dark brows made her orange eyes seem as though they caught fire. "And you, what do you want?"

He picked up his empty glass, "Another drink would be nice."

She laughed and relieved him of his glass. "No, what do you _truly_ want. Consider it a curiosity of mine."

He thought for a moment as Trish disappeared behind the bar with his glass. He imagined the docks of Ostwick with Leliana wrapped underneath his arm while the spring breeze tickled the waves and raised ripples; Grace in the drawing room of the Trevelyan estate asking for advice on a self-portrait, wondering if it was too true to life and lacked her own artistic fingerprints; Skyhold's tavern, filled to the brim with his friends and loved ones, drinking and dancing to the hectic tune escaping Maryden's lute; sitting by a flickering candlelight, reading Varric's _All This Shit is Weird_ , with Leliana's hushed snores creating the music of every calm night, until three young children storm the bed with claims that they can't sleep.

Trish returned with a full glass of dark whiskey and placed it in front of him.

He picked up the glass and squinted his eyes. "I don't know."

"I suppose that is the most honest answer," She said.

He raised his brows and took a sip from his glass. He smacked his lips together and cocked his head.

"This tastes different."

"Don't tell Sanga, but I gave you some of our oldest bottle. She usually charges two sovereigns a glass for it."

He raised his glass to her and took another drink. He winced at the strength of the liquor. It sent a shiver through his body.

The whiskey drew down his eyelids, and he felt a wave of sleepiness wash over his body. He felt relieved at the thought that maybe he could sleep until the morning, or at least until Leliana was awake.

A heavy weight pressed against his shoulders, forcing him against the bar stool. He shut his eyes tight and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Patterns of deep purple and shades of pink colored the insides of his eyelids. He opened his eyes and saw Trish was gone. He whipped his head around and saw the entire bar was vacated. He pushed himself off of the bar stool and pinched his fingers against his temples with a deep breath.

He stretched his arms and dragged himself back into the bedroom. He stifled a loud yawn that tried to escape him, and crept around the room. He found his side of the bed and reached for the blankets. He shook his head, as Leliana was wrapped snugly on all of the bed's layers. He huffed and reached for a small throw blanket at the foot of the bed. The throw blanket was coarse and only covered his upper body. He fanned it over himself with a grumble.

He snuggled against his pillow and his eyelids fell over his eyes.

* * *

The morning sun crept underneath Brady's eyelids and they fluttered open. He turned over and hugged the heavy blankets against his bare torso. He shut his eyes tight and plunged his head into his pillow.

The bed sprung his body up slightly as something jumped onto the bed and sat on the small of his back. Warm, slender hands cascaded down his back, and he felt a small kiss on his cheek, with hairs tickling his shoulder.

"Wake up, my love," Leliana's voice whispered in his ear.

His eyes widened and he turned his head over his shoulder to see Leliana smiling down at him. He shifted onto his back and stared up at Leliana sitting against his hips.

His face distorted, "Leliana, what are you-?"

She leaned down and pressed a deep kiss onto his lips. His brows arched and he gently pushed her away.

She cocked a brow, her face annoyed. "What? The children are not to wake for another hour. We have some time alone."

He brought his hand over his eyes and felt a cool metal brush against the bridge of his nose. He examined his hand, and saw a gold wedding band around his finger.

He looked around and saw he was no longer in one of the Pearl's bedrooms. He was in a large, decorated bedroom with large, open windows flooding the room with light. He heard the sound of the ocean's waves washing up against the shore and gulls chirping past the windows.

"This... cannot be real."

Leliana craned her neck to the ceiling and let out a chuckle, "Hard to believe, is it not? I can't remember the last time we had a morning with just us."

He scrunched his brows together and sat up, shifting his back against the headboard. He darted his eyes around the bedroom. Leliana's clothes were all over the pale wooden floor, and there were books stacked up atop a mahogany desk, with the chair pulled far away from the desk. The walls were decorated with silverite swords- their blades untouched from battle.

"What's gotten into you? Bad dream?"

He closed his eyes and exhaled, "A nightmare."

"Oh," Leliana playfully sulked, pursing her lips and playing with his hair on the back of his head. "Well, I know what can cheer you up."

She brought her hands down to his chest and pushed him against the bed. He grabbed her left hand and saw two rings: A wedding band and his mother's emerald ring.

His face scrunched, and he brought Leliana's hand to her eyes, "Where'd you get this?"

"My engagement ring?" She wrestled against his grip, "Brady, you're hurting me."

"Funny thing," He said, eyeing the glistening emerald ring. "I would never give Leliana my mother's ring... that's just bad taste." He forced her on her back and wrapped his hands around both her wrists, pinning her down to the bed. "Who _are_ you? And what have you done to me?"

Leliana smirked. With a puff of grey and purple smoke, Trish laid underneath him.

"I had heard that the inquisitor could not be easily tampered with," She mused. "Nice to see the rumors were true. I must say, I am impressed."

He released his grip on her wrists and forced himself off of the bed. He straightened his back and crossed his arms. "I've dealt with your kind before, I know how this works."

She rolled her eyes, "You are going to try and kill me."

A dark laugh escaped his chest as he paced around the room, "Maybe, maybe not. It depends."

She cocked her head to the side, "On what, exactly?"

"If you are willing to make a deal." He approached the silverite swords and examined them, pulling one off the wall and running his finger over the flat of the blade.

"A deal? You took the words right out of my mouth," She purred, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "What's your offer?"

He turned and drew closer to her. "I need information. I'm looking for the Dagger of Din'an Hanin, ever heard of it?"

She pursed her lips, "Perhaps, what do I get out of this?"

He pointed the blade at her, hovering the tip of the blade at her neck. "Your life."

She looked at him with scorn, then shrugged. "Alright, it's a deal."

"Talk."

"There is a crime syndicate in Denerim. I don't know where the dagger is, but the syndicate is having an auction disguised as a large party. The entire underground was invited by a man who goes by the name 'Dark Wolf.' I was planning on attending. Places like that, they're like fish in a barrel for me."

He pulled the tip of the blade away from her neck and held it at his side, taking a step closer to Trish.

"How do I know you are telling the truth?"

She shrugged, "You don't. But, a deal's a deal."

"A deal's a deal," He nodded, and with a quick jab of his wrist, he plunged the sword through Trish's chest. Her mouth fell agape, and her eyes stared into his as life left them. He twisted the blade, and pulled it out of her chest. She slumped forward, and dissipated in a golden light.

The room around him disintegrated and turned black.

* * *

Brady jolted awake with a gasp, and immediately scoped the room. He took a breath of relief at the sight of the brothel bedroom. He looked over to Leliana's side of the bed and saw her staring at him with an open book in her lap.

He narrowed his eyes and bit down on his lip, "Weird question, but can I see your hands?"

She raised a brow, but complied.

Her hand was vacant of any rings, and he fell back on the bed with a long sigh of relief. He rolled onto his side. His excited eyes made Leliana shake her head.

"Do I even want to ask?"

He explained what had happened while she slept soundly. Leliana scolded him for making a deal, but she relaxed after he assured her she died by his hand. Leliana closed her book and set it on the nightstand.

"What did she try to tempt you with?"

He froze and looked up at the ceiling as he tried to find the words to say. He ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged. "It was nonsense, really. We were back in Skyhold with everyone, just having a good time."

"You are the worst liar," She clicked her tongue, "Fine, don't tell me. We need to see Anora, see if we can confirm Trish's story before we walk right into a trap."

Brady yawned and rolled onto his stomach, closing his eyes. "Give me another hour, it's been a long night."

Leliana groaned, and picked her book back off of the nightstand. "One hour, Brady. Then, we go."

He hummed, "On my honor."


	8. Allies, Bad Guys, Old Lies

Brady and Leliana stood at the gates of the Royal Palace and awaited for Anora to greet them. Brady stood with his arms crossed, shifting his weight between his feet. He grumbled, and undid his arms. He pulled at his brown leather gloves and sprawled out his fingers.

The two palace guards at each side of the gates stiffened when Brady glanced over to them, wrapping their hands around the handles of their sheathed swords.

He narrowed his eyes and huffed. He itched the back of his neck and grumbled underneath his breath.

"Patience," Leliana said, a tinge of annoyance in her tone. "Maybe if you had not overslept, we would have not been late."

"You could have waked me."

"Maker, I tried."

"Not hard enough, it seems."

A frown formed on her lips with a crease etched in between her brows.

He smirked, pointing a finger at her. "You're cute when you're angry."

She hummed, "I'm about to be adorable, then."

He laughed, and left her alone, focusing his boredom on kicking pebbles on the ground as far as he could.

They waited for a few more moments when Anora emerged from the palace to greet them, directing them to follow her through the courtyard. The courtyard was decorated and colored with indigenous flowers and masterworks of masonry displayed with the polished path to the palace and the giant fountain seated in the middle of the courtyard that misted Brady with cool water as he walked by, and statues exhibiting a distinct Ferelden charm with their rustic tone; both beautiful works of art and modest in design.

They entered the main palace doors. Brady eyed the old portraits against the grey stone walls of military heroes and previous Ferelden kings and queens. There was a large, rectangular vacancy on the wall tinted a lighter grey, the drastic contrast catching Brady's eye.

Brady pointed toward the vacancy on the wall. "I think one of your portraits fell."

Anora looked at Brady, and brought her eyes to the vacancy. She let out a deep breath, "That's where a portrait of my father used to be."

Brady tore his eyes away from the vacancy and gulped. "My apologies."

She continued down the hall to the throne room. The sound of bickering arose from inside. Anora pulled on the heavy door, silencing the conversation inside and directing attention to the open door.

King Alistair slouched on his throne, pinching the bridge of his nose, and leaned forward with a bright smile at the sight of Leliana. Arl Teagan sneered at Brady as they entered the throne room behind Anora. Damon Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden, dropped his crossed arms to his sides and grinned at Brady and Leliana.

Arl Teagan pointed at Brady, "What is the meaning of this?"

Alistair raised his hand and silenced Teagan, "They're here on my accord. Be nice."

Teagan shifted his eyes to Damon. "This man just stole from the Teryn. Your brother, Warden."

"Technically, Arl Teagan, he stole from me." Damon replied.

"Alistair, I will not stand for this!" Bann Teagan shouted, his face turning a shade of red as he flickered his eyes away from Alistair and stabbed them towards Brady.

"Then please, Uncle, sit," Alistair said, making Damon stifle a laugh. Alistair looked at Damon and let out a chuckle, "Thought you'd like that one."

Teagan waved him off and stormed through the throne room towards the exit. He brushed shoulders with Brady, and murmured into his ear, "If you do any ill, I'll personally take your head."

Brady pushed his brows together. "I'll give it to you."

Teagan huffed, and exited the throne room. The guards shut the doors behind him and returned to a stiff stance, facing forward.

Damon descended the short stairs in front of the throne and greeted Leliana with a tight hug. He held out his hand to Brady and they shared a firm handshake.

He let go of Brady's hand and wiggled his finger, "Just one thing, Inquisitor… before the pleasantries."

Brady tipped his head to the side, then felt a quick jab to his gut. He doubled over and let out a wince. Damon tapped Brady's cheek and held a smile.

"That's for putting my wife and son in danger," Damon cocked a brow. "Do not ever do that again."

Brady croaked, "Noted."

"So, there is an ancient, elven 'doom' dagger in the hands of the Inquisition's old enemies," Alistair said, bringing everyone's attention to him. "And the chantry wants it back. Am I missing anything…?"

"Yes," Damon said. "Morrigan would like it back."

"That's not happening," Leliana shook her head. "It's too dangerous to be in her hands."

"In our hands," Damon expressed. "It's just as much mine as it is hers."

Brady chuckled, "Kind of like a 'what's yours is mine and what's mine is yours' thing?"

"More like 'what's mine is hers and what's hers is hers,'" Damon laughed.

"And Brady still managed to steal it from you," Leliana argued. "It needs to be secured by the Chantry."

"I agree," Alistair chimed in. "Morrigan shouldn't be in possession of such a deadly weapon."

Damon scoffed, "Morrigan _is_ a deadly weapon."

"Bound to the will of Mythal," Leliana retorted. "She's dangerous enough without the dagger."

"I could say the same of the Chantry," Damon shifted, his brows pushing together. "What could they possibly want with a weapon of such caliber?"

Leliana narrowed her eyes at Damon. He shot her a cheeky grin, and a sigh escaped her.

"Damon brings up a good point," Alistair said. "I want to help you, I do. But, even I have grown a slight distrust towards the Chantry's leadership and forces after their actions during the rebellion."

Leliana huffed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Brady glanced at Leliana and straightened, "We can argue about what to do with this dagger after we get it back. Right now, we're just wasting time."

"The Inquisitor- excuse me- Lord Trevelyan is right, your majesty. It is in everyone's best interest to return it," Anora said.

"That we can agree on," Alistair fell back against his throne. "What can we do?"

"We have received information on an auction, disguised as a party, organized by someone who goes by the name of 'The Dark Wolf,'" Leliana explained. "Ferelden's underground will all be in attendance. We could uncover if Florianne, Samson, and Calpernia have tried to sell the dagger, or used it for that matter."

Alistair cocked a brow at Damon, "Aren't you the Dark Wolf?"

Damon flickered his eyes across the faces of everyone in the room and waved his hands in front of him, "I was… _was._ "

"Many have assumed the name after the blight," Anora said. "It is now a matter of who is working beneath the name now."

"Anora, show them to the records room. Perhaps there's something in our reports," Alistair ordered, and she nodded. He took a breath and grinned, "You are all welcome to stay as long as needed," he ticked his head to the side and looked at Damon and Leliana, "You remember where your rooms are, right?"

Damon rolled his eyes, "The one with the shitty view."

Brady bowed, "Thank you, your majesty."

Anora ordered them to follow her out of the throne room. She led them through the foyer and descended down the stairs into an underground section of the palace that was lined with numerous guards. At the far side of the corridor, there was a heavy door where two armed guards stood at each side of the door.

Anora opened the door and waved Leliana, Brady, and Damon in. The room was of moderate size with ceiling high shelves lining the walls with a sliding ladder attached to each shelf. The shelves were cluttered with brown leather clad folders, some appearing more worn than others. There was a wooden table in the center of the room with two chairs on opposite sides and unlit candles at each end of the table.

Brady studied the shelves, noticing the alphabetical tags separating each section of folders, the spines of some folders wider than others. He glanced over at the 'I' section of folders, and saw a bulky folder that took up a large space on the shelf in the middle of the section.

They watched Anora thumb through the collection, then pull a single folder off of the shelf. She placed it on the table and opened the folder.

"This holds all of the names that have taken up the name of 'The Dark Wolf' in the past… Including you, Warden." Anora said, flipping through the pages in the file. She stopped at the final page in the folder and scanned her eyes across the page. "According to our recent intelligence, we suspect that the current 'Dark Wolf' is a woman. Who this woman is, however, we do not know."

She pulled out a piece of parchment and turned the page towards them. They leaned forward and read the parchment.

Damon craned his neck and groaned, "Maker, not him."

"The Arl of Denerim?" Brady cocked his head. "Your Arl deals with the Dark Wolf?"

Leliana crossed her arms, "He is an unsavory man. I do not doubt it."

"Vaughn Kendalls is nothing short of a monster," Anora shook her head. "But he is the rightful Arl, despite our efforts to strip him of that."

Brady handed the parchment back to Anora, and she slipped it back into the folder. She closed the folder and returned it to its proper place on the shelf. She walked over to another section of shelves and pulled another folder and handed it to Brady.

Brady thumbed through it. He scrunched his nose and curled his lip as he read through the Arl's file and the details of his offenses: all taking place in the Denerim Alienage. He looked up at Anora and tossed the file onto the table.

"You allow this man to be the Arl of Denerim?"

Anora shrunk back and her eyes drooped, "We have tried to make him answer for his crimes against the city's elves, but we never have enough proof or statements to properly prosecute," She looked at Damon, "He supported you and Alistair during the blight and hangs it over our heads whenever guards start sniffing around."

"And you wonder why elves hate us," Brady scoffed. "These politics make it impossible for them to have proper justice."

Anora sighed, "He is your best lead to discover where the Dark Wolf is hosting this auction you speak of. Unfortunately, this is all I can give you on the matter."

"And why's that?" Brady said.

"I cannot interrogate Vaughn, as I represent the Crown," she explained. "It would cause an entire incident with the nobles."

Leliana pinched the bridge of her nose, "If he were to know I was part of the chantry, he could spin it as though the chantry was abusing its power."

Brady turned to Damon, "We'll do it."

Damon nodded, "I have been waiting to kick Vaughan's ass since after the Landsmeet."

"You think he'll talk?" Brady said.

"It's us," Damon said. "We'll get him to sing."

"You will do no such thing," Anora protested. "Warden, you will cause a hysteria if you do so."

Damon clenched his jaw, "Then what do you expect us to do?"

"We'll figure it out," Brady cocked a brow at Damon.

Leliana scrunched her brows together, "What are you going to do? Walk up to his front door and ask him nicely?"

Brady smirked and glanced at Damon. Damon nodded with a smile.

Leliana's face fell and her arms fell to her side, "No, no. Absolutely not. Don't you dare-"

"We're professionals," Damon said. "Don't you trust us?"

Leliana and Anora shared a look, then replied in unison, "No."

* * *

"We're not telling Leliana about this, right?"

"As long as you never tell Morrigan."

Brady and Damon stood paces away from the main doors of the Arl of Denerim's estate. Brady looked over at the two guards in front of the doors, then turned to Damon. Damon stood with his arms crossed and raised his brows.

"Go ahead," Damon said.

Brady wrinkled his forehead, "You do it."

"This was my idea. So, you do it."

"Exactly, it was your idea. It's only right that you ask."

"How does that make any sense?"

"Age before beauty, Warden."

"They'll recognize me," Damon argued. "I'm kind of a big deal around here."

"If you're a big deal, I'm a bigger deal."

The two guards eyed down Brady and Damon, and Brady groaned.

"Fine," Brady sighed. "But stay close."

Damon nodded, and shooed Brady towards the gate. Brady clenched his jaw and approached the two guards.

"State your business," The female guard to the left of the doors said.

"Good afternoon, good sers. I have a letter of the upmost importance that must be delivered to the Arl immediately."

The male guard squinted and flicked his chin at Damon standing behind Brady, "Who's your friend?"

The female guard narrowed her eyes, "Looks familiar, that one."

Damon pursed his lips and side-eyed Brady. Brady shook his head and urged Damon to take a step closer, "Him? He's… my father."

Damon clenched his jaw and grated his teeth, "Yes, his father," Damon rustled his fingers through Brady's hair, making Brady hold back a wince as Damon pulled on his short locks, "Had em' young. Very young. Started a courier business to support me and the boy. Times were tough back then, you know how it is."

"Yes," The male guard narrowed his eyes, "Quite."

"We have heard no word of a letter to be delivered to the Arl," The female guard said.

"Of course you haven't," Brady said. "We had just received it from… well, I am to keep their identity concealed, at the sender's insistence."

The guards shared a look, then the male guard sighed. "He is not here at the moment. I will inform him of your visit and send word to you when he returns."

"Well, this is an urgent matter, a very urgent matter," Brady stressed. "Do you know where the Arl may perhaps be?"

"No," the female guard said, her voice flat. "You are more than welcome to search the entire city of Denerim, if this letter of yours is as important as you claim."

Brady thanked the guards and retreated with Damon away from the estate. Damon pressed on as Brady followed behind. Damon evaded busy streets through the back alleys. Brady broke into a jog and caught up to Damon.

"You know where he is?"

Damon glanced to Brady and shook his head, "I have an idea. Come on."

Damon and Brady hurried through the back alleys and reached the gates to the Denerim alienage and entered. Elves populated the roads, talking outside of establishments and enjoying the pleasant weather of the day. Brady followed Damon through the streets, and stopped at the sound of someone calling out to him.

"Good ser," said an impoverished elf. He rose from his seat on the ground beside another elf and sheepishly approached Damon and Brady. "Care to spare some coin for a war veteran?"

"A war veteran?" Brady reached into his pocket. "Which war?"

He pointed to the sky, "The war against the breach, ser. An Inquisition soldier, I was. Knew the Inquisitor personally."

Damon and Brady shared a look. Damon shook his head and waved Brady off as he placed a few silvers into the elf's hand.

"I hope this is enough."

The elf shoved the silvers into his pockets and smiled, "More than enough. Thank you, good ser."

Brady nodded and departed from the elf. He overheard the elf brag to the elf beside him.

Damon chuckled, shaking his head. "Nice to see I'm not the only one who fell for that."

Damon approached a storefront and pushed on Brady's chest, urging him to stay outside and look for any sign of Vaughan. Damon entered the storefront, and Brady walked through the alienage. He leaned against a support beam near a large tree in the center of the alienage and watched the people talk and laugh.

A short, red haired elven woman in elder's robes approached Brady from the side, startling him. He pushed off of the support beam and turned to her.

"Apologies, m'lady," Brady bowed his head. "I did not see you there."

She cocked her head with a smile, "Manners? From a shem? Not something you see every day."

He held out his hand, "Brady Trevelyan, a pleasure to meet you."

She looked down at his hand and crossed her arms. "Trevelyan? You are the Inquisitor, are you not?"

"No. Not anymore, anyway."

"Shianni, the alienage's Hahren, or 'elder,' in your tongue."

"If I had known I was to meet an elder, I would have shaved," he grinned.

"Watch your charm," Shianni hummed, "I've heard stories of you. Try not to make your presence known here. My people are distrustful of human-led organizations, and more so of their leaders."

"I'll keep my head down," he nodded. "Thank you for the warning."

"I've gathered this isn't a casual visit to the alienage. What do you need?"

"I'm looking for Vaughan Kendalls. Do you have any idea where I could find him?"

Shianni closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "That bastard. What do you want with the likes of him?"

"He has information on a-"

"If you have no intention of flaying him alive, I cannot help you."

"I understand where you are coming from, but- "

"No, you don't," she scoffed and hardened her stare, pushing her brows together. "You really don't."

A commotion arose and the elven around him froze, all idle chatter dissipated into silence. Some hurried inside of their homes and stores, slamming the doors shut. Brady wrinkled his brow and looked around the alienage. He caught three well-dressed men stomping across the alienage.

He brought his eyes to Shianni, who eyed the men with scorn.

"There goes your man. Right on time."

The three men approached a group of young elven women. They backed away, but the men persisted, one of them running his hand down a blonde elven woman's arm. She slapped his hand away, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, spewing curses at the woman.

"Hey," Brady shouted, catching the attention of everyone around him, including the three men. He sprinted over to the men and placed himself between the men and the group of elven women, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Whatever the fuck I want," The man in front replied, holding his arms out wide and wearing a cocky grin, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Who are you?"

"Arl Vaughan Kendalls," Brady narrowed his eyes. "Just the man I'm looking for."

Vaughan sneered at Brady and waved his hand, "Jonaley, Braden… Make it quick."

Vaughan stepped back and the two men at his side drew their swords. Brady chuckled, and dodged a swing from Braden's sword. He drew the fight away from the elven women and into a clearing in the alienage.

"I advise you to disarm," Brady said.

Jonaley laughed, "Coward."

Brady shook his head, and caught Jonaley's blade with his metallic hand as he swung it towards his neck, forcing a loud clank to echo across the alienage. Brady pulled on the blade and yanked Jonaley forward, disarming him and taking possession of his blade.

Jonaley stood in awe, then pulled a small dagger from his belt. Brady crouched and jabbed the hilt of the sword into Jonaley's knee. Braden approached beside Jonaley, and Brady shot back up to his feet, thrusting his shoulder into Braden's stomach.

Braden slouched over with a grunt. Brady kicked the bottom of his boot into Braden's chin, knocking him out. Jonaley waved his dagger at Brady's calf as he clutched his knee on the ground. Brady brought his blade down on Jonaley's dagger and sent a violent vibration down the blade, forcing the dagger out of Jonaley's hand and into the dirt. Brady kicked the dagger away from him and stomped on his hand.

Jonaley cried out for mercy, clutching his hand and staring up at Brady.

Brady threw his sword across the clearing and crouched down, staring into Jonaley's terrified eyes. Brady glanced at Braden, then back to Jonaley.

"Take your friend and get out of here," Brady ordered. "Vaughan and I need to chat."

Jonaley struggled to his feet and ran to Braden, lifting him off of the ground and throwing Braden's arm over his shoulder. He threw a look over at Brady. Brady sneered, and Jonaley scurried away from Brady and Vaughan.

Brady walked towards Vaughan. Vaughan backpedaled, holding a nervous grin across his face.

"You've caught my attention," Vaughan said, waving his hands out in front of him. "Perhaps we can talk peacefully, no violence needed."

Brady stretched his jaw and caught Vaughan by his collar. He drug him towards the elven women.

He shook his collar, "Apologize."

Vaughan looked up at Brady and spat, "If you think I'm apologizing to a bunch of knife ears-"

Brady curled his upper lip and punched Vaughan with his metallic hand, opening Vaughan's lip and sending a crimson river to cascade down his chin and onto his clothes.

"Apologize." Brady repeated.

"I- I am sorry," Vaughan said, blood spilling from his mouth and coloring his teeth.

Brady shook his collar again and forced Vaughan's head down. He bowed his head to the elven women, "Forgive me for the violence. I hope I didn't ruin your afternoon."

The elven women watched him with wide eyes as he dragged Vaughan across the alienage and into a vacant, shadowed alleyway. He threw him against the side of a building and pinned him against the wall with his forearm against his chest.

"What do you know of the Dark Wolf?"

Vaughan laughed and spat blood into Brady's face, "Go fuck yourself."

Brady wrapped his hand around Vaughan's throat and bared his teeth, "I have no time for games."

Vaughan grabbed Brady's arm and attempted to pry it from his throat. Brady tightened his grip against Vaughan's throat. Vaughan turned a shade of violet as his eyes glassed over. Brady watched the life drain from Vaughan, his lips turning a pale before his eyes.

He heard the faint sound of heavy boots rush towards him, but did not pull his eyes away from Vaughan. He felt heavy hands grasp his shoulders and pull at him.

"Stop," Damon ordered, "He's had enough."

Brady released his grip on Vaughan's throat. Vaughan slumped down against the wall. He craned his neck and gasped for air, choking and spattering blood onto the ground.

"I have it under control," Brady snapped at Damon.

Damon let out a dark chuckle, "I see that."

"I'll have you killed," Vaughan said in between coughs.

Brady thrusted his foot into Vaughan's ribs. Vaughan yelped and curled up on the ground.

"Please, keep talking."

Damon stood in between Vaughan and Brady, pushing his hand against Brady's chest. "My turn."

Damon crouched down to Vaughan and laid a hand on his chin, forcing him to look up at him.

"Hey buddy," Damon smiled, "Listen, my friend here doesn't like you that much. Wants you dead, in fact. Now, I can help you, but you have to tell me what you know about the Dark Wolf."

Vaughan forced his back against the wall and looked at Damon with widened eyes, his breath labored. "I have only spoken to her on a few occasions. She has always been cloaked. I have no idea what she looks like, but her accent is Orlesian," He chuckled and wore a blood stained grin, and tossed a look to Brady. "A mean piece of work. Think you would like her."

"That's what I'm talking about," Damon laughed, tapping Vaughan's cheek. "Hear anything about an auction?"

"Tomorrow night- artifacts, treasure, skins- it's all going to be there," He said, his voice shaky. "You need an invitation to get in."

"Skin?" Brady's forehead crinkled. "There is no slavery in Southern Thedas."

"If you think that is going to stop slavers from making quick coin in Tevinter, you're daft."

"Where can we get an invitation?" Damon asked.

"I don't know," Vaughan said. Brady furrowed his brows and took a step forward. Vaughan quickly reached into his pocket and handed Damon a folded piece of parchment. "Take mine, take mine, dammit."

"It's been a pleasure, Vaughan," Damon said, groaning as he stood up. He reached down to Vaughan and pulled him up to his feet from his collar. Damon flicked his head, "Go home. Get cleaned up," he smirked, and rested a hand on Vaughan's shoulder, "Find a better hobby than tormenting the city elves."

Vaughan shook Damon's hand off of his shoulder stumbled away from Damon and Brady. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and murmured, "You'll pay for this."

Brady took a step forward, but was stopped by Damon. Brady pushed his brows together and glared at Damon, then raised his eyes to Vaughan as he walked away.

"We're just going to let him go?"

"We'll get him," Damon nodded. "But Anora is right, he's the Arl of Denerim. It must be done right."

Brady huffed, "I'll professionally run my sword through him."

"He's not worth being tried and killed over. We're lucky he didn't recognize us."

They left the alleyway and walked side by side through the alienage, prying eyes watching them head towards the exit. When their eyes met with the curious elves, they directed their attention elsewhere.

The group elven women stood in front of them, bringing them to a stop. Damon glanced at Brady, whose attention was solely on the women before them, their eyes focused on Brady.

"Ma serannas," A blonde elven woman said with a small smile.

Brady bowed his head, "Dareth shiral, asha."

Brady continued through the alienage towards the gates. Damon lingered for a moment, smiled at the elven women, and then followed Brady to the bridge and towards the Royal Palace.

* * *

Brady and Damon delivered the invitation to Anora when they returned to the Royal Palace. Anora thanked them, and ordered for the invitation to be forged into three separate copies with careful precision by the King's scribes immediately. She dismissed the scribes and reminded Damon and Brady they were allowed free reign of the palace and its pleasures.

Anora told Brady he was more than welcome to ride in the country with her, which he politely declined, more interested in finding out what pleasures the palace contained.

Brady asked for Leliana, and Anora informed him she was in her bedroom, located in the King's personal wing of bedrooms and utilities on the opposite side of his own assigned room. He thanked her, and departed to explore the palace.

He visited the kitchen and spoke to the kitchen staff, asking about Fereldan cuisine and sampling numerous platters that were to be sent to various people in the palace, ranging from the palace guards, to visiting dignitaries and scholars. He was amazed by the various cheeses present in each meal, to which the head chef laughed and informed him of the King's unhealthy love affair with the ingredient.

He requested a bottle of cherry wine and a chocolate cake be sent to Leliana's bedroom, knowing well enough Leliana would easily forget to eat if she was reading through reports and planning various assignments for her agents.

His newfound friends in the kitchen encouraged him to help prepare the chocolate cake. He initially refused, but their eager faces coerced him to stay. The head chef coached him through the steps, and Brady made a mess of the apron they supplied him with as cake batter flung from the wooden bowl as he mixed the ingredients.

The head chef and Brady talked as the cake baked. The head chef cocked a brow, "This is for a lady friend, is it not?"

Brady chuckled, "Can't a man enjoy a chocolate cake for himself?"

The head chef laughed, and retracted his curiosity, returning their conversation to alcohol that complimented different dishes.

When the cake was finished, Brady thanked the head chef and the rest of the staff, and retired to the library.

He read through Fereldan folktales, growing nostalgic for tales he heard before and intrigued by the tales he had not. Scholars shot him glances from afar, and he caught them on occasion, their eyes begging to speak to him, but they just as eagerly turned away and sunk their heads back into their studies.

He searched for Elvhen lore and history, but there was a scarcity on the subject in the library's collection. He grabbed every book he managed to find on the subject, and returned to his seat. He concentrated on the sections dedicated to Fen'Harel, half-laughing as he read through the tales. He sunk back in his seat and watched the words on the page blur and fade as his thoughts begun to travel to moments and conversations shared with his old friend, Solas.

Brady had time to think and understand Solas and his viewpoint after the exalted council, most of his contemplation taking precedence over sleep, culminating in many nights with little to no rest. When he did manage to sleep, his dreams felt stalked and studied, as though Solas still wished to find what Brady was thinking or doing.

Those dreams stopped entirely after he was dismissed from the cathedral and were replaced with nightmares, or nothing at all, depending on how much he drank prior to passing out on a tavern bar stool or in his bed.

Vaughan reminded Brady of the injustice enacted against the elves, and reinforced his rationalization of Solas and his plans. He disagreed with the utter decimation of the world as he knew it, but he understood Solas' reasons- and could not distinguish if that made him feel better or worse.

Perhaps ignorance would be preferable, defaulting to striking down Solas to stop the horrors he wished to inflict upon the world. Instead, Brady was entangled with his own hope; hope that Solas would see this world- though flawed- has potential to be something greater, through the good in its people and the progressive minds that strived for change.

Brady blamed himself, more often than not, for Solas' view on the state of the world. He wished that he did more to show Solas the good present in mankind. It pained him to think that despite his altruistic acts and decisions during his time as the Inquisitor, it was not enough to change Solas' mind.

Brady still believed that he could save Solas and stop him from completing his mission against the world. He had saved Brady's life, and Brady was determined to return the favor, with or without support from anyone else.

The sunlight diminished inside of the library, with the night forcing the scholars to light the candles beside them, and palace servants igniting the gilded braziers attached to the stone walls. He watched beads of rain crawl down the tall and narrow stained glass windows, the tapping of rainfall became the only sound in the library. Brady closed the book in front of him and returned his stack of books to their place on the shelves.

He stepped out of the library, and down the quiet hallway. He was restless and shunned the idea of lying in bed, waiting for sleep. He reached the foyer, and saw the door that led to the records room, and gave in to his own curiosity.

He descended the staircase into the dark corridor. There was a single guard at the records room door, slumped and snoring in his chair. Brady stalked forward and slunk into the room, locking the door behind him.

He lit a candle and observed the shelves of documents organized in alphabetical order, letter by letter. Brady scanned the shelves and found the 'I' section. He thumbed through the leather backed folders until he found 'Inquisition.' He pulled the bulky folder off of the shelf and placed it on the desk in the center of the room. He placed his candle beside the folder and rummaged through its contents.

There was a dossier for every member of his inner circle, and information on inquisition agents from each branch. He found a collection of parchment entitled, 'Inquisition and its Leadership' in large letters on the front page.

He pulled the collection of parchment from the folder and thumbed through it. Information on the inquisition's military force, diplomacy, and espionage were detailed in the documents. He found intercepted letters meant to be seen by 'The Inquisitor,' but none contained valuable information. They consisted of letters of thanks from various individuals, death threats, and love letters from admirers; varying from sultry and sinful to humorous and innocent. He could not help himself but stifle a chuckle from the letters signed anonymous, with a lipstick stain where a seal would have been, still prominent on the page.

He continued combing through the pages and found a brief dossier on himself that read:

 _(See 'Trevelyan, Brady' for more information)_

He huffed, and placed the "Inquisition" folder in its proper place on the shelf and shifted to the 'T' section. He found 'Trevelyan, Brady' and returned to the desk.

His folder was divided into sections: History, Character, Known Associates, 'The Mark,' Decisions Made and Possible Effects on Ferelden, Political Affiliations, and Weaknesses-subtitled 'In the event of Corruption or Risk to National Security.'

The history section outlined a timeline of his life, and a drawn branch of his family tree. 'Eleanor Brady' was listed as his maternal parent, with her status as a mage noted beside her name. He shuddered. Throughout his life, his father's relationship with his mother was hidden from everyone, including the Ostwick nobility- Both allied families and rivals.

He reasoned with himself, quelling his worries with the conclusion that Ferelden kept his true lineage and his status as a bastard a secret in case he ever propositioned a Fereldan woman of nobility to marriage, to which they would reveal his illegitimacy.

The history section concluded with his excommunication from the Chantry, and unknown current whereabouts. There was a note in the margins that suggested he returned to the Trevelyan Family Estate in Ostwick, but it remained uncertain.

The character section was in bullets, but he neglected to read it, in the off chance it would simply be a summarized, direct character assassination of who he was, as well as his rejection of a stranger's observations defining him.

The Known Associates section was the bulk of the folder. Everyone was listed, from Cassandra and Lady Mira to inquisition agents and politicians.

He read the observation of his relationship with Cassandra. The first entries consisted of disagreements on mage independence, and the possible disconnect due to contrasting opinions. Later entries noted the existence of their romance, with a note stating:

 _(Refers to her opinion on multiple occasions, see: Decisions, and Weaknesses)_

Her ascent to the Sunburst Throne was stated as an effect of his personal support and the dissolution of their intimate relationship.

He grumbled, and shifted in his seat. He knew he was being watched closely by every nation in Thedas, but a shiver ran down his spine upon the discovery of how close they were all observing. He imagined there was a file on him in every nation, dissecting him in gross detail. He pushed the thought away, finding comfort in ignorance.

He sifted through pages on his inner circle, and stopped on observations of his relationship with his advisor, Leliana. It was only half a page, and read:

 _Teagan,_

 _Infiltrating the inquisition is one thing, but spying on the spymaster- that is entirely different. Lady Nightingale is careful, too careful, if you ask me. Her conversations with the Inquisitor are almost entirely concealed behind closed doors. I am afraid of her… almost too afraid to even write this letter of disengagement. I am enacting the "well-being" clause, for reasons listed below:_

 _\- She will find me out, and end our flow of information to the Crown_

 _\- She is terrifyingly sweet at times, and downright intimidating, as well. (I do not know if this point justifies the enactment, but I feel though it should be said)_

 _\- Her agents are fiercely loyal. I have been welcomed as an outsider, but those referred in bird names (those named after birds of prey especially) would have my throat slit in my sleep if they were to discover my discretion. This would inevitably lead to the souring of relations between country and the Inquisition._

 _Please consider this._

 _\- Terrier_

He chuckled, and wondered if 'Terrier' ever had his request fulfilled. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was an exciting feeling that arose in him. Finding his life described in pages by complete strangers was unsettling, and he hated it. It made him wonder if the privacy of being alone was preferable to his time with the Inquisition.

Though, he felt a sense of pride in his relationship with Leliana. He credited being in love with his spymaster the cause, as their intimate details were never able to be scrawled by peering eyes onto a parchment to be shared and known by strangers. It felt as it should: secret, intimate. Their relationship and all its details were theirs and theirs alone, only to be shared if they wished.

He heard the doorknob clink, and his heart fell to his stomach. He shot up from the table and collected the folder in his arms, the parchment inside disheveled and sticking out of the corners as he rushed to return them to the shelf.

The door creaked open, and he relaxed as Leliana slipped into the room. She closed the door behind her and squinted her eyes at him, pointing a finger at the folder clutched to his chest.

"What are you doing?"

He returned to the table and reopened the folder. She crossed her arms and awaited an answer.

He shrugged, "Curiosity."

She circled the table and scoped through the collection of folders.

He twisted in his chair and watched her. "What about you?"

Leliana reached for a folder, "I always destroy mine," She pulled it from its place and sat across from Brady with a small smile. "It's become a little joke between me and Alistair's agents," she let out a laugh, "Perhaps not much of a joke to them."

She pulled out the parchment and ripped them down the middle. She slid his candle closer to her, and burned each piece. The pieces of parchment lit the room with spurts of orange each time she sacrificed them to the flame.

She continued to feed pieces of parchment to the flame, and placed a coy grin on her lips, directing it towards Brady.

"I don't suppose you are to thank for the cake and wine delivered to my door?"

He averted her eyes, looking down blindly at the words on the parchment. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She narrowed her eyes, and watched the flames eat away at another piece of the parchment. "It was quite good. Slightly drier than usual."

He sucked on his teeth, "Someone probably worked really hard to make that."

"There's a chocolate stain on your collar," she mused, keeping her attention on the flame.

He looked down and saw a blotch of batter stained on his shirt. He licked his thumb and rubbed it against the stain. She chuckled, watching him from the corner of her eye. The stain spread, despite his efforts, and he gave up.

Leliana blew the ash from the parchment off of the table and wiped away any remnants with her hand. She picked up the emptied folder and returned it to the collection.

"Ever go through mine?"

"Oh no," she shook her head. "I have my own."

His mouth fell slightly jar, then he pushed his brows together with a snicker. "You jest."

"Sure."

He pursed his lips to the side and continued to read through the collection of parchment. Brady handed her the letter from 'Terrier.' She smiled curiously, sat back down at the table, and read through the short letter.

She hummed and returned it to him, "I wonder which closed doors."

"Me too," He said, his eyes staying on the parchment. "My quarters… the rookery… outside the rookery…"

She laughed, "The medical ward… the library… the balcony…"

He raised a brow, "…The war room…"

"The vault… that storage closet in the tavern."

He winced, "We don't bring up the storage closet."

"Oh, it has been long enough."

"No, it really hasn't."

He found 'Eleanor Brady' scrawled on top of a page.

"Well, well," He said with a sly grin, "Look what we have here."

He held the page up to Leliana. She squinted at the writing, then fell back into her seat.

He read through the page and his face scrunched. His eyes darted across the page, not taking his eyes off of the parchment. He stood up and paced, walking up to the collection of folders and pulling one off of the shelf.

Leliana leaned forward as he slammed the folder onto the table. She looked up at him and then down at his clenched hands. Her eyes darted onto the thick folder labelled, 'The Grey Wolf of Ghislain.'

"Brady…"

He ignored her, and flicked the folder open. He read through its contents, crinkling the parchment with each turn of the page. He stopped on a particular page, then twisted it towards Leliana.

She glimpsed down at the page, then released a breath. He tapped his finger against the parchment and stared down at her.

"You never bothered to tell me?"

She looked up to him and her breath hitched. Her lips parted, but she did not utter a word.

He shot up from the table and turned his back towards her. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, deep exhales blowing out of his nostrils. He pressed the palm of his hand between his brows.

"I can't believe this," He murmured. He looked over his shoulder to her. "All those times I- and you knew? How could you sleep at night? How could sleep next to me knowing _-_ " his head fell as he let out an exasperated sigh.

"It was complicated. Maker, it still is."

He waved her off and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The guard at the door shot up and cursed at Brady, then settled back into his chair, shutting his eyes and mumbling his annoyance underneath his breath.

Brady rushed up the stairs and towards the palace exit. The palace guards stared at him storm through the palace with bewildered looks tainting their expressions as he passed by.

Leliana called out to him from behind, but her desperate calls fell on deaf ears. He pushed through the palace doors and walked into the courtyard. The rainfall soaked his face and clothes. He splashed through the puddles on the pathway toward the main gates and heard Leliana call his name again from the open palace doors.

Leliana hurried through the courtyard and caught his arm, stopping him. He averted his eyes away from hers and shuffled out of her grip. She deflated with an exhale, and placed a hand on the back of his neck, urging him to look down at her. He clenched his jaw and remained silent.

"You have every right to be angry."

A sharp laugh escaped from his chest.

Her voice wavered, "We can talk about this, let me explain-"

He brought his hand to her wrist with a gentle touch, sliding her hand away from him. They shared a gaze. He shook his head with a deep whimper and turned towards the exit.

The guards begrudgingly let him through. Leliana stood and watched him disappear from her sight.


	9. Heavy Rain and Phantom Pain

Brady walked through the city. His clothes grew heavy from the rain and made him regret storming out of the dry, warm palace. The roads were vacant, the only sign of life coming from murmurs inside the homes he passed, candlelight dancing in their windows.

A drink sounded like the perfect ease to his addled mind, but upon reaching the marketplace, he stared down the tavern and hesitated. His stomach churned at the thought of downing multiple drinks and slumping into a drunken stupor. He cut through the marketplace and walked through the doors of the chantry.

Lay sisters roamed around inside, mindlessly contributing to various chores that came at the end of services. He sat in the back row and fidgeted, attempting to release himself from the wet clothing that clung to his skin. He pulled off his gloves and placed him at his side, then folded his hands. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, but no prayers or pleas came to him.

Brady craned his neck up at the ceiling and let out a deep breath. He looked around the cathedral and noticed the lingering eyes of the lay sisters, all of them snapping their attention back to their tasks upon meeting his eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. The cool chain of his necklace pressed against his damp skin and sent a shiver through his body. He sighed and hung his head, running his fingers through his hair and sending droplets of rain to crawl down his neck and creep underneath his collar.

Quiet murmurs came from the far side of the cathedral. Quick steps pattered on the floor and echoed against the walls.

He lifted his head to see an older woman in decorated chantry robes, looking down at him from the aisle with her arms crossed. He sat up and rested his back against the bench. The woman unfolded her arms and pointed beside him. He slid over and ran his hand across the bench, flicking a puddle of rain onto the floor. She sat next to him and brushed her chantry robes down on her lap.

"I apologize, your Grace."

"The chantry is no place for a criminal to hide."

"Blame it on the weather."

She glanced down and caught a glimpse of his hand. He stiffened, and slipped it to his side.

She looked up to him, "You are troubled."

"So I've been told," he chuckled.

"I do not fault you for looking for solace here, as The Maker helps all of His children in times of need," she nodded. "But you are disrupting our preparations for tomorrow."

He pushed his brows together. "You're serious?"

"Look around," she scanned her eyes through the room, and Brady followed her gaze, noticing the lay sisters continuing to glance over at him. "They are uneasy with your presence."

"I've done nothing wrong."

"Reputation speaks volumes over truth," she said. "What they hear becomes what they perceive. To them, you are the man who lost Andraste's gift and replaced it with that unholy contraption."

He shook his head with a dark chuckle and stood up, "I should have expected this."

She stood and narrowed her eyes, "Consider this a courtesy, unless you would rather have the Templars escort you out."

"You're right, your Grace. I should have not have come here," he shimmied past her and into the aisle. "If I wished to hear bullshit, I would have stayed home."

She stiffened and sneered at him. He waved her off and exited the chantry, ignoring the rainfall and trudging through the mud towards the tavern. He pushed the tavern door open, and saw his bare hand. He glanced at the chantry, but refused to return to redeem a pair of gloves.

The tavern pulsed with numerous conversations from civilians and armored mercenaries. They watched Brady as he walked past, then returned to their conversations.

He sat at the bar and noticed a burly man replaced the petite blonde behind the counter. He ordered a drink, and the man nodded, placing a mug in front of him and pouring the liquor into the mug. Brady protested, stopping the barkeep mid-pour and receiving an annoyed glare. Brady reached over the counter and grabbed the bottle of liquor from the barkeep's hand.

The barkeep reached to retrieve the bottle, but Brady wiggled his finger as he pulled away. Brady threw a sovereign on the bar, and the barkeep grumbled, but accepted his coin and left him alone, leaving to attend other patrons.

Brady drank the bottle dry in moments and signaled for a replacement. The barkeep grabbed a bottle from behind him and slid it to Brady. Brady nodded, waving the bottle in the air with a small smile. He popped the top and continued to drink.

The liquor seeped into him and relaxed his muscles. The stinging sips ceased, allowing the liquor to flow down his throat with ease. He slouched in his seat and rested his head in his hand. The cool metal soothed his burning cheeks. He ran his fingers through his hair and grumbled as strands of hair caught in the jointed metal and plucked from his scalp.

The anger that tightened his chest vanished and was replaced with an overwhelming emptiness. His mind, however, filled with unanswered questions, despite his wish for drunkenness to erase all of his contemplation and the throbbing pain pricking against his forehead.

He felt foolish for leaving the Palace. The answers he longed for were not at the bottom of a bottle. He shook his head and pulled himself up from the barstool. He turned and saw two armored mercenaries preventing him from taking a step forward.

One mercenary wore light armor, with red hair cropped just below his chin. The other mercenary wore a heavy set of armor, with scuffs on the breastplate. His hair was thin and patchy atop of his head with a bald spot visible in the middle of his scalp.

The bald mercenary held his hand up. "Where do you think you're going?"

Brady sighed, "Listen, I'm having a bad night."

"I heard you were in the city," the bald mercenary said. "Didn't believe it until now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The two mercenaries shared a look, then nodded.

The long haired mercenary reached for his sheathed dagger as the bald mercenary wound his arm back. Brady watched the long haired mercenary jab his dagger towards Brady's ribs. Brady dodged, and grabbed the bald mercenary's fist, pulling it back until it twisted behind his back. Brady bashed the bald mercenary's head against the counter, spilling the drinks of the patrons seated at the far side of the counter.

A collective gasp arose from the tavern. Brady pivoted and saw everyone's eyes upon him. The long haired mercenary lunged towards Brady and swiped the tip of his dagger through Brady's shirt. Brady caught his wrist and twisted until it released a loud snap. The long-haired mercenary bellowed out in pain and dropped the dagger at Brady's feet.

Everyone at the tavern stood up and crowded around the men. Their eyes were wide and mouths fell ajar. The long haired mercenary cursed and drew their attention to him.

"What are you all doing?" He spat. "That's the inquisitor!"

They turned their eyes to Brady. He watched their faces distort into scowls as they closed in around him. Brady exhaled, and raised his hands at his sides.

"I don't want to fight. Just let me go."

A gasp arose from the crowd, "Bloody Andraste, his hand! Look at his hand!"

A set of arms hooked underneath Brady's arms and locked their hands against the back of his neck. Brady wriggled against the hold.

"I can't hold this bastard much longer," The bald mercenary said, tightening his grip on Brady.

An armored man stepped forward. Without hesitation, he connected a heavy punch into Brady's face. Brady fell numb and his eyes watered. A rush of warm blood dripped down from his nose. The metallic taste flooded in his mouth and throat. He spat onto the floor, then looked up at the crowd.

They cheered as the long haired mercenary retrieved his dagger from the floor. He brandished the blade as he approached Brady with a satisfied grin. Brady wrestled against his captor with all of his strength.

Brady's eyes widened as the dagger stabbed towards him. He jerked his body away from the dagger, leaving the dagger to dig into his captor's stomach. He yelped, releasing his grip on Brady.

Brady staggered into a bar stool and attempted to catch his breath. The crowd roared and entrapped him in a formidable circle of bodies. Brady picked up the bar stool and swung it into the bald mercenary's face. The wood splintered and broke upon collision. The bald mercenary stumbled forward and fell to the floor.

A man swung a broken liquor bottle towards Brady's neck. Brady grabbed his arm and twirled the man around, forcing his forearm up against the man's back and snapping his arm. The man fell limp, and Brady pushed him into the crowd.

Two men stormed into Brady, grasping onto his arms. Brady pulled on his arm and smashed his forehead into one man's nose, ripping his arm away. The other man's eyes widened as Brady wound his arm back and shot quick jabs into the center of his face until he collapsed onto the floor.

Brady shuffled his shoulders and scanned the crowd, watching them take slow steps away from him with grim expressions.

He raised his arms, "Anyone else?"

The crowd shrunk back and dissipated, filing out of the tavern and leaving the unconscious challengers motionless on the floor behind. Brady wiped his bloody nose with his sleeve, examining the crimson remnants that soaked through the fabric. He stepped over the unconscious bodies and sat back onto his bar stool. The bartender stared at him with widened eyes, motionless.

Brady itched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly, "I don't suppose I could get a drink, still?"

The bartender scurried for a glass and placed it in front of Brady. Brady watched the bartender's shaky hand fill the glass with a dark whiskey, his eyes focusing on not spilling a single drop.

"You don't have to-," Brady sucked on his teeth and exhaled. "You think I'm a monster?"

"I don't want to find out."

The barkeep slid the glass to Brady. He thanked him, receiving a nervous grin and nod from the barkeep. He took a sip and eyed the unconscious bodies cluttered on the floor. He shook his head and placed his glass down on the counter.

The tavern door creaked open and let in a breeze that smelled of cool rain. Brady looked over his shoulder and saw Leliana approach, drenched from the rain. Droplets fell from her hood and clothes, creating small puddles on the floor. Her hood stuck to the top of her head with the weight of the rain. Her eyes scoured across the tavern. He returned his eyes forward and took a sip from his glass.

"Maker, what did you do?" Leliana asked, eyeing the broken barstool and shattered glass across the floor.

"They started it."

She stepped over an unconscious body and sat beside Brady. She squinted her eyes and leaned closer to him. He pulled away, looking at her from the corner of his eye. She placed a hand on his cheek and forced his face towards her.

Her eyes widened, "What happened to you?" She placed her hand underneath his chin and examined the cuts and swelling on his face.

He attempted to pull away, "Just a typical night on the town."

She frowned and asked for a piece of cloth and a bottle of liquor from the barkeep. He complied and retrieved her request with haste.

Brady grumbled as she scooted closer and held his face in place. She poured liquor onto the cloth and pressed the damp cloth against the open cuts scattered across his face.

"Okay, ow," he said, jolting backwards. "That burns."

She rolled her eyes and pulled on the back of his neck, securing him beside her. She continued to clean the cuts on his face with soft, gentle dabs. She wiped the blood on his face away and ran the cool cloth underneath his neck, clearing his throat of the crusted streaks of blood.

He pulled on a small smirk and chuckled. She looked up at him and knitted her brows together.

"What's so funny?"

"How long were you looking for me?"

She focused on his wounds, "You better hope these don't get infected."

"If an infection kills me, the Maker has a sense of humor."

She pulled the cloth away from his face and folded it into a tight square. She doused it with liquor and pressed it against the deep cut on the bridge of his nose. He bared his teeth and winced. She apologized, and dabbed the cut.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice low.

She glanced over at the barkeep and saw him asleep, slouched down on a wooden chair with his mouth wide open and small snores escaping from his throat.

"I wanted to. Maker, I wanted to," she said. "But I couldn't. It wasn't my secret to tell. I know that sounds like a poor excuse-"

"It does."

She sighed, and shut her eyes. "I know what it's like to hide things from the people you love… to protect them, to protect yourself."

"Didn't I have the right to know?"

"Yes, of course."

"You knew more than anyone how much I missed her," he said. "I just don't understand how you could keep it from me, after everything."

She pulled the cloth away from his nose and looked down at her hands, poking her finger into the folded corners. "It killed me. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It wasn't-"

"Your secret to tell," he said.

She glanced up to him and nodded. He swallowed and hung his head. They fell silent for a moment. She wiped droplets from her cheek and sniffed, raising her eyes to the ceiling with a deep breath.

She placed the cloth on the counter and placed her hand on top of his. Her cool, damp hand soothed his burning knuckles. She wrapped her fingers around the back of his hand with a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice breaking. "I understand if you're angry with me, if you want me to go. I'll see you at the palace whenever you choose to return."

"Stay," he glanced at the open bottle of liquor. "I'd rather not drink alone."

A small smile appeared on her lips, and she turned her head away. He tilted his head, eager to catch her smile. She turned back towards him, her eyes soft on his.

He leaned forward, "If we're going to do this… work together… no more secrets, no more lies. We need to trust each other."

She nodded, "No more secrets."

He slid her his glass. She poured herself a drink and handed him the bottle. He clinked the top of the bottle against the rim of her glass and took a swig, watching her drink from the corner of his eye. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and shook his head with a grin. Leliana pursed her lips and scrunched her face.

"Maker," she shivered, eyeing her glass with disgust. "Never understood how you drank this."

"It's quick," he shrugged.

She shook out her shoulders and blew out a breath of air. He reached over and looped his index finger over the rim of the glass, sliding it towards him. She scoffed and grabbed onto the glass, tugging it back towards her.

His fingertip turned white against the inside of the glass. "Don't drink it if you don't like it."

"I'm willing to give it a chance."

He released the glass, a small amount of dark liquor spilling over the lip of the glass as she pulled it back to her. His eyes lingered on her as she took another sip, snapping his gaze to the bottle when she turned her head towards him.

"My mother," he said, peeling the corners of the label on the liquor bottle. "She's some sort of legendary spy, isn't she?"

"One of Celene's best. Her magic alone made her dangerous," she said, then laughed. "I once asked Justinia if I could recruit agents from the Circle."

"I suppose she refused."

"She didn't want to take the risk."

"We did."

"Mages distrust the Chantry, for good reason. The Inquisition was different. They believed in us, in you."

"Did you know when we first met?"

She took a sip from her glass and shook her head. "I didn't know until we started helping the Civil War refugees. I only knew Eleanor- your mother- as 'The Grey Wolf of Ghislain.'"

"Ferelden knew. Her connection to me, the Inquisition… it was all in that folder."

"I wouldn't doubt if Celene loaned her to Ferelden for joint operations. Ferelden would have seen it as Orlais' way of playing nice. She was at Ostagar, was she not?"

"That's what she told me."

Leliana nodded. "A simple cross reference with the mages at Ostagar is probably all it took, along with a hunch and investigation." She mused with a light laugh, "I'm sure the Fereldan agent who made the discovery was beside themselves."

His forehead wrinkled. "And you?"

"One morning, I received an encrypted letter with very confidential information on the war, things only someone very close to Celene would know. At first, I believed it was Briala, but the accounts were too personal. It had to be someone in the field."

"That's borderline treason," he said, then cocked a brow. "Or, just treason."

"My thought exactly," she pointed to him. "Who would risk that, and why?"

"You were suspicious."

"More curious than suspicious," she clarified. "If not Briala, it had to be your mother. No one else would know that much. When I sent word back, I used an old Orlesian cipher from the Black Age, something only she would know how to decrypt." Leliana laughed and rolled her eyes, "She returned word with backhanded compliments about my skills, but didn't deny it. She insisted I keep you safe, no matter what."

Brady gripped the neck of the bottle until his knuckles paled, then took a drink. He placed the bottle down on the counter and urged her to continue.

"I looked into you records and noticed your sister was only seven months old at the time of your birth, making highly improbable Lady Mira Trevelyan was your mother," she sighed. "I did not know if you were aware of your true parentage, and if others heard the Inquisitor was a bastard, they may use it against your family, the Inquisition, and you personally. I kept it to myself. After all, it was just an assumption."

She drummed her fingers against her glass. She took a drink and paused.

"I'm not going to like this next part, am I?" He blew out a breath of air and rotated his shoulders. "Go on."

She sighed. "She attended the Empress' ball at the Winter Palace."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"She confronted me during your dance with Florianne. It was short, but she revealed to me that you were her son, scolding me for letting you get so close to the Grand Duchess," her voice lowered, "She sounded scared. For whatever reason, it made me trust her."

"Maker," Brady rested his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands. "I could've seen her, had a conversation with her…"

"I asked if she wanted to speak to you," she said. "She declined and told me, for your sake, to never speak a word of it to you. She insisted it was better that way."

"Better for her," Brady scoffed and took a swig from the bottle.

"She wanted to protect you," Leliana said, her voice soft. "I disagree with the way she did it, but I understand."

"Then she should've came home," he threw the bottle up and gulped down mouthfuls of liquor. He placed the bottle on the counter and hung his head, taking deep breaths.

Leliana deflated her shoulders and inched over to him. She placed a hand on his cheek and guided his face to hers, greeting him with a soft smile. She ran her thumb against his cheek, her cool touch soothed his burning cheeks. He looked to her and relaxed beneath the familiar gentleness within her eyes. He closed his eyes and chuckled, leaning into her touch with a wide grin.

She tilted her head and pulled her hand away from his cheek. She sat up and slid the bottle away from Brady, then poured herself another glass. She took a sip and pulled on a smirk.

"I'm impressed," Brady said. "Not even a shudder."

"It's lost its taste."

He took the bottle back and rested it in front of him, "It's dangerous like that."

They sat and drank from the bottle in between jokes and playful conversation. Leliana's cheeks grew pink with every sip with a crooked smile plastered across her lips. Brady attempted to warn her that she may have had enough, but she handwaved his concerns. He knew better than to argue with her, despite his better judgement.

They fell silent as the bottle ran dry. Leliana ran her finger around the inside of her glass, making it wobble around on the counter. Brady watched her with a small smile. Even drunkenness was unable to blind him from the tiny details of her face that time made him forget, only to rediscover them all with the same adoration.

She glanced over to him with a chuckle, "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. "I just missed you."

She laughed, "Oh, truly?"

"Only a little," he shrugged, then cocked a brow. "Is that so hard to believe?"

She glanced over to him as she took a drink. She placed her glass down and rustled her fingers through her damp hair and hummed, "What is it you miss?"

His mouth fell agape, stretched in a grin. "Seriously?"

She propped her elbow on the counter and laid her head against her hand with her fingers through her hair. "I'd like to hear it."

"I'm sure you would."

She rolled her eyes with a small laugh, then stood up from the bar stool. She wobbled and stumbled towards Brady. He caught her forearm and secured her into his chest. She pressed her head into his shoulder with a muffled laugh, her hair tickling his neck. She pulled away from his shoulder and looked at him with a bright smile. He grinned and brushed a misplaced hair across her face behind her ear. She ran her tongue across her lips, the warmth of her breath brushed against his cheek.

"You want to know what I miss?" She murmured, glancing from his lips into his eyes.

"What?"

She brushed her thumb over his brow and ran it across a faded scar above his eye, "That."

"Really?" He chuckled. "Why that?"

"It's small, intimate," her lips twitched into a smile. "You can only see it if you're close enough."

"Looks like you've had enough to drink," he said and lifted her into his arms.

Her brows pushed together, "I can walk."

"Sure," he said, stepping over the unconscious bodies on the floor and exiting the tavern.

The moon continued to light the marketplace. Leliana, after minutes of protest, fell asleep in his arms on the way home, her arms wrapped around his neck. He laughed at the soft snores that escaped her the entire walk back to the Palace.

The guards helped Brady through the gates and the main doors. They were concerned at first, wondering if Leliana was wounded, but Brady assured them the culprit was a bottle of whiskey. He reached her room and tucked her into her blankets, slowly escaping from Leliana's arms.

She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and rested on his face. A lazy smile grazed her lips, then she fell back to sleep.

Brady blew out the candles around the room and walked out of the door.


	10. The Blade and The Blacksmith

Brady tossed around in his sheets.

The darkness of the bedroom was broken only by the light of the moon piercing through the windows. A breeze crawled through the open windows and smelled of fresh, fallen rain and chimney smoke. It chilled his skin, still hot with liquor.

He sat up against the headboard, closed his eyes and craned his neck up toward the ceiling with a huff. He threw off his sheets and stood up, raising his arms over his head with a long stretch and groan.

He dressed into a loose grey tunic with short sleeves and dark brown leather trousers. He fastened a pair of black boots to his feet and left his room.

The castle was quiet. Candles in the hall burned and flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows over the decorative furnishings in the hall.

Brady eyed the artwork that lined the walls as he walked through the castle. He descended the stairs and ventured through the lower level of the palace. The guards in the main hall eyed him as he passed, remaining still with their hands rested on their pommels.

He passed by the vacated kitchen and saw a heavy wooden door that led outside.

He exited through the door and found himself in the training yard. The faint sound of a hammer striking metal echoed from a stone structure that bled an orange glow onto the surrounding area. He followed the sound and stepped into the forge through a wide, open arch.

The forge was brightly lit by firelight. It appeared much larger from inside, with high ceilings and enough space for a dozen blacksmiths to work simultaneously without disturbing one another. A collection of weapons hung on the tall, stone walls and various sets of armor sat on display, aligned underneath the weapons. The flames reflected against their metal.

A blacksmith struck against a shard of iron set atop an anvil. He was an elf, tall and slender with cropped brown hair and a smooth face. He stopped and rose his eyes to Brady. He leaned his head forward and squinted his eyes, then nodded.

"Inquisitor," his voice was soft. He placed his hammer down and walked to Brady with his hand extended. "Heard you were attending the palace, didn't think I'd actually get to meet you."

They shook hands. The blacksmith took a step back and rubbed the nape of his neck.

"Pretty late to be working the forge."

"Wanted to finish fixing a piece of armor, guess I lost the time," he shrunk and slouched his shoulders. "I apologize if the noise woke you."

"Unneeded," Brady said. "What's your name?"

"Garahel, your worship."

"After the warden?"

"After my father… who was named after the warden, your worship."

"You don't have to address me by that," he chuckled. "'Brady' is fine."

"I apologize, your wor- ah, Brady," Garahel smiled awkwardly and clicked his tongue. "Doesn't sound right."

"Trust me, I prefer it."

"Of course," he nodded. "As you wish."

Brady fought a smirk and glanced at the swords displayed on the wall.

"Beautiful collection."

"Aye, you like them?" Garahel gestured for Brady to follow him to the wall. "Our passion projects."

Brady examined the blades on the wall, the masterworks all distinct in a noticeable matter. Garahel held a grin and crossed his arms. He explained the craftsmanship of a few blades, marveling at them with the same admiration Brady had.

"Have they ever seen battle?"

"No. Those weapons are in the armory."

Brady followed the swords and continued to listen to Garahel's adoring descriptions of various weapons, ranging from daggers to two-handed axes, until they reached the end of the collection at the corner of the forge.

Brady set his eyes on a silverite sword. The blade was long and narrow with a deep groove that ran down the center of the blade. The cross guard was colored a gleaming gold with a short grip, wrapped in drake leather. The pommel was squared like a shaven down bar of gold and sat at the end of the hilt, heavy and proud.

He placed his fingers beneath the blade and tipped it forward with ease, the blade lighter than he expected.

Garahel cocked his brow and approached. He glanced at Brady with a chuckle.

"Made that one myself," he straightened his back. "Started off as a mistake, but I managed to work it into something worth the wall."

"A mistake?"

"Was supposed to be a two-handed weapon, but the narrow blade ruined the weight. Made it into a demon of a long blade. Light enough for one hand, but the length of a greatsword," he chuckled, "Call it 'Bastard's Blade,'" he cleared his throat, "Not out loud, of course."

"It's magnificent."

"Thank you, but it is quite impractical," he admitted. "Would take a master swordsman to use it in battle."

Garahel fell silent, then took the blade off the wall. He presented it to Brady, who stood wide-eyed.

"Take it, Inquisitor. I'd consider it an honor."

"Thank you, but… It's quite the weapon, I doubt I'd do it justice."

"You're being modest," Garahel ran his hand across the bottom of the blade and held it wide in his arms. "I'm no King, but I know when someone is worthy of one of these blades, more so if it's one of mine. Some people are too easy to forget what you did… for all of us," he let out a laugh and placed the blade into Brady's arms, "And if I may be so bold, sounds like you may have, too."

Brady held the blade in his hands and rose his eyes to Garahel.

"Thank you," Brady bowed his head. "Truly."

"I should be thanking you," Garahel glanced at the sword. "When you're out there saving the world or whatever the void you do, you'll be doing it with ole' bastard here, using him for the good of the people and all that."

The blacksmith grinned and turned away, walking back to his workbench. He threw his jerkin on and put out the fire.

Brady wielded the blade in front of him. The pommel was a masterful counterweight to the lightness of the blade. The grip fit into one hand, with just enough room to add another for the leverage on a heavy strike. Despite its length, the blade allowed for quick strings and strikes.

Garahel bid Brady farewell and encouraged him to test the blade in the training yard, handing him a dark leather belt and scabbard.

Brady agreed and followed him out of the forge.

The sunrise kissed the sky and lit the training yard with an orange and pink glow. Brady sunk into the mud with every step and hurried to the drier area of the yard. Straw dummies sat in a line near the sparring ring.

With one final farewell to the blacksmith, Brady found himself alone.

He eyed the blade and murmured, "Alright, ole' bastard, let's see what you got."

Brady practiced until the morning overtook the sky. The palace sprung awake, the sounds of guards and servants rushing into their morning routine failed to distract Brady from the use of his blade. People passed through the training yard, but paid him no mind, more invested in their own roles.

The sound of boots sinking into the mud approached Brady.

"Truly a work horse, Trevelyan."

Damon walked in front of Brady with a grin. Brady lowered his blade. Damon leaned against the straw dummy and crossed his arms. He squinted his eyes and whistled.

"Did the dummy fight back?"

Brady cocked his head, then nodded with a laugh.

"Tavern brawl with a few drunkards."

"You went to the tavern? What, the ale here not strong enough for you?"

"No," Brady rested his blade at his side with a sigh, "It's a long story."

Brady turned and walked to a bench in the yard, placing his blade atop of the wood. He pulled off his tunic and dabbed it against his face, careful not to place pressure on his wounds.

"I've got time," Damon smirked and pushed himself upright.

"Leliana and I had an argument. I left, went to the tavern… couple guys picked a fight and landed some lucky shots."

Damon snickered, "A lovers' spat, then?"

"Please," Brady wiped the sweat from the nape of his neck. "It's not like that."

"Until it is."

Brady paused and looked over his shoulder at Damon. He shook his head and sighed. Damon joined Brady by the bench. Brady threw his tunic over his shoulder and glanced at Damon.

"We're friends," he said. "Just friends."

Damon stared at the ring seated against Brady's chest and chuckled, "I'll start believing it when you do."

Brady glanced down at his necklace and flicked it around his neck. The ring fell between his two shoulder blades.

"A woman will always best a man… and when you love one, well, you give them the power to damn near kill you."

"Love one? What makes you think I-"

"I kept Morrigan's ring, too. Makes it easier, in a funny way, doesn't it?"

Brady threw his tunic back on. He looked at Damon, deflated his shoulders and exhaled.

"My father used to tell me, 'Pup, the ones you love should always know it.' Never thought much of it back then. When Howe's men overran our home," Damon paused and sighed. "The last thing I ever said to them was 'I love you,' and to this day I wish I said it more… showed it more."

Brady remained silent and watched the pain of a memory pull down the corners of Damon's mouth and wrinkle his brow. Damon took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Death treads behind us, its hands reaching for our necks. We aren't on this world long enough to wait for a right time, a right way. Let the ones you love know it," Damon's eyes glanced at the palace. "Let her know, or I assure you, you will regret it. One way or another."

"I can't do that," Brady pushed his brows together and shook his head. "It would be unfair. She has a mission to focus on and-"

"And?"

"It would be a distraction. Getting this dagger back is hard enough without bringing feelings into it."

"I'd say it's too late for that."

Brady knew Damon was right. The chance of dying of old age waned every time Brady raised a blade or simply stepped outside. He wagered the end would come at the edge of another's blade or a cloaked dagger in the dark just when he felt safe. Perhaps even at the hands of Solas himself, if or when his plans came to fruition.

Once, the fear of death kept Brady alive. It made him careful and hone his skills to reduce the chance of being outmatched by an enemy. His fear of death quelled after years of conflicts that had him stare down his own demise.

The part of death that scared Brady was the idea of living while death claimed the ones around him. Death, to him, was easy. Eventually, the pain would cease and he would rest by the Maker's side. Living was the hard part. Perhaps an early grave had its small benefits, for he knew the pain of loss lingered as long as lungs drew breath.

Damon raised his eyes to the sparring ring and smirked.

"You still got some fight in you?" Damon asked, placing his hand on his pommel.

Brady glanced over to the sparring ring and grabbed his blade with a grin.

"Do you, old man?"

Damon laughed, "You won't last a minute."

They walked toward the sparring ring, but were interrupted by a King's guard. The guard informed them they were requested to join Anora in her study shortly. With a disappointed sigh, they agreed.

Brady sheathed his sword. A few inches of metal stuck out from the scabbard. He sighed, and secured the leather belt across his torso and rested the scabbard and blade against his back.

They walked into the palace and found Anora's study in the King's wing.

She stared down at a large piece of parchment that rested atop of her desk. Leliana stood behind Anora and glanced over her shoulder, her brows puckered with her arms crossed over her chest.

Leliana raised her eyes from the parchment and greeted them with a small grin. They approached the desk. Damon took a seat beside Anora and folded his hands together, gazing at the parchment.

It contained a rough sketch of an estate, floor by floor. The estate seemed a moderate size as it was drawn out, making it susceptible to various chokepoints if a fight were to occur- and from Brady's experience- a fight was a certainty.

Brady addressed Damon, "What are you thinking?"

Damon unfolded his hands and rested his back against his seat. "We send you in, have you ask about the dagger. If someone knows something, great. If not, you get the fuck out of there."

Leliana narrowed her eyes at Damon. "That simple?"

"Not everything has to be an elaborate scheme," Damon said. "Sometimes, it's as easy as 'get in, get out.'"

"If the Dark Wolf sees him, he will not be able to 'get out' as easily as you claim."

"Your thoughts, Leliana?" Brady asked.

She pointed at the bottom floor of the estate.

"The wine cellar. We enter through there and join the guests on the main floor. Damon searches the estate for the slaves they which to auction while we-"

"You have forged invitations, why risk being caught before you even get into the estate?" Anora interrupted, continuing to stare down at the layout.

"Even with the invitations, this is a Ferelden party. No masks to hide behind," Brady argued. "All it would take is someone to recognize one of us."

"Which isn't a problem if we simply send you," Damon retorted. He tapped the flat of his hand against the desk. "These people believe you to be a monster? Then be a monster. Make them see you as what they believe you are. They won't bother you. They may even admire you."

"And what of the slaves?" Anora said, turning her eyes to Damon.

Brady crossed his arms, "That's where we'll use the entrance to the wine cellar."

Damon's eyes gleamed as a smirk stretched across his face. "They'll be so distracted by you-"

"They won't notice our infiltration," Brady twisted the parchment towards him and leaned over the desk. Leliana circled around the desk and stood beside Brady. She studied the layout, then glanced at him. He brought his eyes to her, "What do you think?"

"Damon guards the entrance to the cellar and I go in," Leliana tapped her finger against the parchment. "If the entrance remains clear, Anora's agents can funnel in and rummage around."

"And provide support if this goes tits up," Damon added.

Brady rubbed the nape of his neck. "Which it probably will."

Leliana huffed and shook her head.

With agreement, they exited Anora's study. Damon left Brady and Leliana for the dining hall, claiming his stomach was bound to collapse on itself without breakfast. They bid him farewell and walked side by side down the hall.

Brady stole glances of Leliana as they continued down the hall. She caught his eyes and playfully pushed her hand against his upper arm. He staggered with a laugh.

"I know that look," she said, looking up at him. "Something on your mind?"

"Just admiring the view," he cocked a brow, "you look well… considering."

She scoffed with a smile, "A lot better than some."

"How are you feeling?"

"I hoped for a few cups of tea before doing anything today," she laughed. "But I've been worse."

They reached the staircase. Brady begun to descend the stairs. Leliana laid her hand on his forearm and brought him to a stop. He turned around and caught her eyes.

"What Damon said… you don't believe that, do you?"

He shook his head, "Not all of your schemes are elaborate."

She rolled her eyes and giggled, "That's not what I meant."

He took a step up and stood in front of her.

"After last night, he may be right. I'm in more danger being seen at a tavern than in a crowd of monsters."

A deep wrinkle formed between her brows. "You're not a monster, Brady."

"They assume they know me from what they've heard. I don't blame them," his forehead rippled. "Even you couldn't tell the difference, once."

"I know who you are."

He pulled on a small smile, "I know you do."

A moment of silence fell upon them, their eyes connected and reflected the bleeding sunlight through the windows of the hall. He noticed the concern on her face. She was unveiled, her thoughts transparent through her eyes.

"Get some rest. We have a long night ahead of us," he murmured. "I'll see you soon."

He descended the stairs and left her at the top of the staircase. He glanced up and saw she had gone. With a deep exhale, he returned to his bedroom.


	11. That Escalated Quickly

Brady halted his mount atop a small hill and saw the glimmering light of the Dark Wolf's estate in the distance. It stood alone, surrounded by farmland, the crops long dead and plowed low, coloring the landscape a dull yellow.

The commotion was audible, despite his distance.

He pulled a pair of black gloves from his belt and placed them onto his hands. He adjusted the sleeves of his maroon leather jacket and covered the length of the gloves. Ole' Bastard rested in a scabbard against his back, secured by a leather belt that ran diagonal across his torso.

He urged his mare to continue down the hill with a slow trot.

Upon reaching the gates, he was greeted by two burly men, dressed in heavy armor and asking for his invitation. He dismounted and handed them the small piece of parchment. They scrutinized the letter, then allowed him through the gate.

"That sword better not leave your back," one man warned. "Not here."

Brady nodded and entered the courtyard.

The architecture of the estate was classically Fereldan, built high with Greystone and large windows covered by thick crimson curtains that only exposed the black silhouettes of those inside.

Groups of men and women scattered across the courtyard and enjoyed idle conversation with drinks in their hands. Their voices turned into hushed whispers and their eyes lingered as he passed. He kept his head low and entered the estate.

The foyer was filled with guests escalating their voices to speak over one another. Servers passed around drinks to guests, who never allowed their eyes to leave their conversations. The guests wore pristine formal attire, the colors of their dress emulated the fallen leaves of Harvestmere and the darkness of Wintermarch.

The foyer, decorated with marble statues and oil paintings, felt misplaced when matched with the stone walls. Despite the Fereldan grit displayed on the exterior of the estate, the inside felt more suited for an Orlesian chateau, with bright gold and blue tones fashioned on the furnishings and the oriental rug that split the room.

He caught the attention of many guests. They reeled him in, eager to boast and compare their infamy with Andraste's Unchosen. They spoke ill of the crown and the Empress, blaming their reign for creating such a hassle when smuggling goods and people in and out of country lines.

They asked an assortment of questions, most unsavory in nature.

A woman, with wiry grey hair sprouting from her hairline, propositioned Brady with a business deal, claiming he would want for nothing as long as her needs were satisfied.

He politely declined, to which she reminded him the offer was always open, but only to him.

One guest, a tevinter with a thick face that barely fit through the collar of his jacket, asked him if the rumors of The Divine and The Inquisitor were true, and if she were a good lay.

The guests around him choked on their own curiosity, their eyes prying and awaiting an answer.

Brady did not reply to the man, much to the disappointment of the crowd. Though, he persisted, barking a plethora of questions about their relationship between haughty laughter and sips of wine. The more Brady ignored the man, the louder his inquiries became.

The tevinter seemed to give up on his search for answers, shrugging his shoulders and twirling the wine in his glass.

"Whatever the case, your Divine is quite beautiful."

Brady brought his eyes to the man and nodded, "That she is."

The tevinter rose his brows, "Which makes it hard for me to believe that she isn't some sort of whore. All those templars around, I doubt she can help herself."

Brady clenched his jaw, then rested his lips on a thin grin. The tevinter chuckled, his shoulders shaking and rising his glass to his lips.

Brady jabbed the palm of his hand onto the bottom of the wine glass. It shattered against the tevinter's teeth and cut open his top lip. The tevinter stood in awe, dabbing his busted lip with his sleeve. The guests dissipated from Brady and joined other circles of conversation, making eyes every so often as he towered over the tevinter and taught him a lesson on the need for respect in foreign countries through gritted teeth.

He left the tevinter alone, only to be bombarded by an unhumbly dressed pair of women. Their dresses contrasted one another. One a dark blue, strapless with a plunging neckline that left nothing to the imagination. The other, a rich red.

Brady entertained the women with a hollow smile.

They fed off each other, weaving their words together and delivering conversation with clear implications in their wordplay. Their calculated touches to his chest and down his arm did not go unnoticed.

"Would you dine with us, my lord?" The woman in the dark blue dress asked, a slick smile across her lips. "We are not in Ferelden for much longer after tonight."

The woman in the red dress imitated the smile on her companion's lips, wading closer to him in unison like a choreographed dance. "We could start with dessert, if you prefer."

Brady blushed and brought his eyes to the floor. He rose with a sheepish grin and rubbed the nape of his neck, "I'm afraid I leave for Orlais in the morning."

They women shared a glance, then slunk into him, their hands roamed his body, unwelcomed.

"There's always tonight," One breathed into his ear.

He shook them off. When their expressions soured, he looped his thumb around his necklace and popped the ring from his collar.

"Sorry," he shrugged. "Taken."

He maneuvered through the crowd, tucking his ring back underneath his shirt, and proceeded across the foyer. He followed the overbearing commotion that rung against the walls through twin wooden doors, tall and wide, against the far side of the foyer.

Through the doors was a large room with high ceilings, a lit chandelier dangling in the center. A stage-like platform with a pedestal seated in the middle sprawled across the floor with chairs aligned in front of it in balanced rows that reached just before the entrance of the room.

Guests were seated, their eyes attached to a single man that stood behind the pedestal presenting a painting of a woman, dressed in distinct Black Age fashion, encased in a decorated golden frame.

The seated guests marveled at the painting, and the man announced bidding was to begin.

Brady circled around the seated guests and rested his back against the wall. No recognizable faces were amongst the present guests. The man on the platform flashed a smile as the bids rose far beyond the starting bid.

He watched the wages increase to immense amounts of gold. Just when he thought the bids could grow no higher, another hand shot up from its seat. He assumed crime was lucrative for those in charge of such organizations, but never to this extent. Their bids rivaled what the Inquisition was lucky to have in their coffers in the beginning.

He felt disgusted, scornful of their wealth. When the world seemed to be coming to its end, he doubted they even spared a copper.

He imagined Josephine would have been hesitant to accept dirty coin as she attempted to legitimize the Inquisition, but he saw coin as coin, and at the time, it was the one thing the budding Inquisition was desperate for.

An elven man balancing a platter with glasses of wine approached Brady and offered refreshments, his voice timid. Brady declined and continued to study the guests and the nature of the painting on display.

A light scoff arose behind him. He turned to see a dark-haired woman, dressed in an elegant Orlesian gown, tight around her waist and slender frame. Her skin was pale, pronounced in the gauntness of her cheeks. She took a sip of wine from her glass, her light brown eyes scrutinizing Brady.

He pushed his brows together, forcing a laugh from the woman. She brought her glass away from her crimson lips and rested it by her waist.

"You're a serious one, aren't you?"

Her accent was high Orlesian, thick on her words. It rung like nobility, or of one who had gotten used to pretending to be one.

"Not particularly, no," he replied.

She cocked a brow, "Oh? Is the wine not good enough for you?"

"I'm sure it is fine."

"Then why refuse the pleasantry of a drink?" She pointed her glass to the seated guests. "Not a single body here would dare to deprive themselves of that."

He grinned, "I'm afraid if I drink, I won't be able to stop my coin from running out."

She narrowed her eyes at him, then rose her hand, snapping her fingers three times. The elven man returned with the platter. She pointed to Brady. The elven man brought the platter to Brady and stood, raising the platter up to Brady's chest.

Brady's eyes flickered to the woman then down on the glasses of wine. The elven man averted his eyes away from Brady, his presence quiet and still. He took a glass from the platter, and the woman shooed the elven man away.

He took a sip from his glass and tasted the strong honey present in the wine. The woman smiled, then drank. He brought his eyes onto the auction, where a skinny man won the painting and celebrated with his peers.

"What brings you here?" She asked, inching closer to him.

He kept his eyes on the auction. "An invitation."

"You would not have come unless you wished to win something you want."

"I heard a rumor," he brought his eyes to her. "Of a dagger, elven in design. Know anything of it?"

"Stolen from the Teryn's home?"

He nodded.

Her lips pursed, her eyes squinted as she tipped her head.

"The one you, in fact, stole?"

He stiffened, then clenched his jaw. She took another sip from her glass, then threw her long dark hair over her shoulder.

"A pretty little blade. I had heard it sold for an immense amount of gold. What makes you believe you will find it here?"

"Its only purpose is profit. Perhaps the buyer wishes to double their wealth."

She smirked, "We both know that's a lie, Inquisitor."

She placed her glass down on a windowsill and slivered closer to him. She eyed him with a grin, her eyes darting across the features of his face. She pressed her hand against his chest and brought his back against the wall.

A sharp tip pressed against his abdomen. She diminished the space between them and concealed the dagger with her body. She craned her chin up to him.

"Don't move, handsome," she murmured. "You invade my home, for what purpose?"

A dark chuckle escaped him. He pushed himself from the wall, the tip of the dagger pierced through his jacket. He took a step forward, feeling the sharp point sink into his clothes, and clutched her petite wrist, inching the tip of the blade away from him.

Her face stoned, wriggling against his restraint.

His eyes were vacant as they stared into hers. He looked over her shoulder at the auction, the guests unfazed.

"I don't care about you," he said, his voice low. "Just the dagger."

"They said you would come," she replied. "I didn't believe it."

"Do you know where it is or not?"

She nodded. Her wrist went limp. He took the blade from her hand and released her from his grasp.

He flipped the blade and poked the tip into her dress, "Show me."

Her eyes flared as she reluctantly guided him out of the auction room and into a secluded hallway, vacant of guests and guards. He tucked the dagger into his beltloop and followed behind, catching the glances she shot over her shoulder.

They reached the end of the hallway. She turned towards a door and opened it. She gestured him to go first. He hesitated, then descended the rickety wooden staircase, reaching for the hilt of his blade on his back and releasing it from its scabbard.

Braziers lit the towering rows of casks. A crisp chill surrounded the cellar, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He glanced behind him, watching the Dark Wolf reach the bottom of the staircase beside him.

He raised his blade to her, "I have no time for games."

An agonized yelp echoed against the stone walls. His blade lowered, his attention stolen by the piercing cry.

He tensed up, raising his blade to her again. His face twisted, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Get out of here!" Damon's voice warned, then fell muffled.

Brady passed the rows of casks in a haste to the bleeding candlelight that illuminated from the center of the cellar, coloring the surrounding stone walls with a fiery bright orange.

The casks in the center of the cellar were spread apart farther than any other row. With his blade in front of him, he entered the blazing candlelight, and froze.

Damon stared into Brady's eyes, his face bloodied, his mouth wrapped tight and gagged, his armor stained with droplets of blood. Blood dripped from his nose and fell onto the Warden's Silverite armor, rolling across the metal with a lazy stream.

He was bound tight with a thick rope wrapped across the entirety of his torso. He fought against his restraints with intensity, ignorant to his pain and the exhaustion his struggle brought.

Brady lunged towards Damon, but his arms were caught and held by two armored men. They forced him to his knees. Brady wrestled against them, and broke one arm free. He shot his right fist into the chin of his captor, and shot to his feet, bringing his shoulder into the captor's stomach.

His body stung from the impact of the heavy armor. The captor stumbled back, then brought the heel of his metal boot into the side of Brady's head.

A deafening ring fell upon Brady's ears and he fell limp. The two armored men secured Brady in their grip and kicked his blade to the side, resting it beneath a cask.

The Dark Wolf waltzed in front of Brady and knelt. She placed a finger underneath his chin and raised his face to her.

"Such a pretty face," she clicked her tongue. "A shame."

He curled his upper lip, then his eyes caught the surging pattern of electric red in the shadows of the cellar behind Damon.

"Come on, you coward," Brady slurred. "Come out."

The glowing red entity stepped into the candlelight.

Samson approached Brady, his face stoic. He stood over Brady and crossed his arms over his chest. The Dark Wolf shot upright and stood beside Samson.

"You've come here to kill me?"

Samson nodded. "You've been searching for us, for the dagger. We cannot allow that."

Samson reached into his pack and pulled out folded pieces of parchment. The Dark Wolf's eyes lit up as he handed them to her. She stepped aside and flicked through the pages. Her face soured. She waved the parchment in the air.

"Florianne promised more than this."

Samson's face twitched. "Be grateful, Marjolaine. Unless you wish for everyone to know where you've been hiding."

Brady darted his eyes to the Dark Wolf.

She scowled, then tucked the parchment into her dress. She glanced at the two armored men and informed them they were to listen to Samson while she returned to the auction. The Dark Wolf left the cellar with a final glare at Brady.

Samson let out a heavy sigh, "You couldn't just let it be, could you?"

Brady narrowed his eyes and remained silent. Samson studied him, then looked over his shoulder at Damon. Damon tracked Samson's every step as he approached him.

"Where there's one," Samson untied the gag around Damon's head. "There's another."

Damon coughed and gasped for air. Samson watched him closely. Damon rose his eyes to Samson and sneered.

"Where's your witch?"

"Fuck off."

Samson stretched his jaw and rubbed against his neck, "I'm sure she wants her dagger back, is that not why you are here?" He pulled a dagger from his belt and buried it into Damon's thigh.

Damon howled and gritted his teeth, never relieving his eyes from Samson. Samson twisted the blade deeper into Damon's thigh. Damon's neck shot up to the ceiling with a seething growl.

Samson levelled himself with Damon. Damon twisted his neck and sneered, his breath heavy as it escaped from his nostrils.

"I can feel it in you. You're succumbing to it. Do you hear the voices?" Samson narrowed his eyes. "Do they sing to you?"

Damon turned away from Samson.

Samson straightened his back and circled around Damon. He tipped his head and repeated, "Do they?"

Brady looked at his captors, both wincing at the scene before them. He eyed his blade across the room and glanced at Samson, distracted by his own interrogation.

With a quick show of strength, Brady forced himself to his feet and forced his head into the injured chin of his captor. The armored man released his grip on his arm. The other captor readied his fist. Brady fell to his knees and pulled the Dark Wolf's dagger from his beltloop and buried it into the captor's calf, debilitating him.

The remaining armored man drew his sword, but much too slow. Brady sliced into his throat with the dagger, showering him with the assailant's blood. He clutched at his throat, but lost his strength and fell limp on the floor.

Samson turned and pulled the dagger from Damon's thigh and held it to his throat. Brady paused, inching towards Ole' Bastard.

"Drop your weapon," Brady ordered, continuing towards Ole' Bastard and stomping on the fallen man's head, knocking him out. "We both know he's not the one you want."

Samson snarled with a smile and buried the dagger back into Damon's leg. Brady flinched as Damon roared in agony.

Samson drew his sword, the glow of the blade blood red with blighted lyrium, and brandished it in front of Brady.

Brady grabbed Ole' Bastard from the ground and swung around.

Samson grinned and slashed his blade against the brazier, extinguishing the fire and darkening half of the berth in the cellar. The illuminating red hue dissipated into the shadows.

Brady growled and stepped towards Damon. He slashed his restraints. Damon fell limp on the chair and pulled the dagger from his thigh.

"What are you waiting for? Go get him," Damon urged.

Brady nodded and entered the shadows. His eyes failed to adjust to the stout darkness consuming the far side of the cellar. He took slow, calculated steps, clutching the grip of his blade and holding it in front of him.

He pivoted into a narrow row of casks. He kept his back against the wooden frame, shuffling down the row.

He stopped and held his breath. A rustle scurried on the stone floor. His eyes shot behind him, straining to see in the darkness. He took a short step forward. The faint sound of clinking boots echoed against the walls. He froze, slowly proceeding down the row.

The shuffling of armor approached his back. He turned, and felt the thick metal of a gauntlet graze his ear. He stepped back, and saw the electric red of Samson's skin, prominent in the dark and reflecting off the wooden casks, approach.

Brady caught his balance and swung his elongated blade, striking quick on Samson's wrist. A growl emerged deep from Samson's throat. Samson rose his blade and struck down on Brady's blade.

Brady kept him at a distance and held the grip of his hilt tight, deflecting Samson's desperate attempts to disarm him.

Samson charged at Brady and struck him in the stomach with his pommel. Brady doubled over and slashed at Samson's knees. Samson threw his elbow into Brady's chin and smacked the blade from Brady's hand.

It crashed onto the floor and danced against the stone.

Brady tackled Samson to the ground and mounted him, forcing heavy fisted punches against Samson's face. Samson raised his blade and defended himself with the wide metal. It sliced through Brady's glove and cut deep into his knuckles.

Samson pushed up and struck Brady in the chest with the flat of his blade. Brady struggled to catch his breath and held the blade at bay with his metallic hand. He pressed his weight onto the blade, slowly lowering it to Samson's throat.

Samson retracted his strength on the blade and shot his fist into Brady's side, cutting into his arm with his own blade.

Brady winced and coiled to his side. Samson threw his blade and kicked Brady away from him. Samson staggered to his feet and stumbled towards his blade.

Brady shot up and pushed Samson into the wooden frame containing the casks. He grabbed a hold of his collar and thrust his head into a cask. The wood snapped against the impact and flooded the floor with dark wine. Brady flicked his elbow into Samson's face and grabbed a hold of his hair, immersing his head into the cask and holding him under.

Samson thrashed and gargled, his arms swirled and grasped for Brady. Brady forced him deeper into the cask, fighting against his desperate attempts to emerge.

Samson's arms slowed and fell to his sides. Brady pulled him out of the cask and brought his face close to his.

Samson's eyes were wide, the infected red irisis stared at Brady.

"Where is the dagger?"

Samson chuckled and coughed.

Brady sneered and submerged his head back into the cask. Wine thrashed against the wood of the cask and spilled onto the floor. It bubbled violently, then ceased. Brady pulled Samson out of the cask again.

"Where is it?"

Samson smiled wide, but did not utter a word.

Brady grasped on the rim of Samon's collar and shook, his head bobbed in his armor, weak and despondant.

"Haven't you had enough?"

He let out a creaky laugh. His eyes rolled back, then fixed onto Brady.

"Kill me, Brady," he coughed and chuckled. "You know you want to, just do it."

Brady glared down at him. his knuckles, wrapped around Samson's armored collar, turned white. He huffed, and tossed him onto the floor. Samson curled and rolled onto his side, coughing and spitting onto the floor. He collapsed onto his back, his thin hair dipped into the pool of wine. He let out a exasperated sigh.

Brady craned his neck to the ceiling and heaved labored breaths that stung his sore chest.

"Spineless little shit," Samson croaked.

Brady clenched his jaw tight. He tore his eyes away from Samson and undid the thick leather belt across his torso and tied it tight around Samson's hands, then pulled his waistbelt from his pantloops and bound Samson's legs together.

Samson laid his head against the floor and laughed.

He glared at Samson, his brows pushed together and his nose wrinkled, his lips pressed into a thin line. His skin burned hot against his face. He paced in front of Samson, wiping the blood from his face with his sleeve.

Samson wriggled in his restraints. He stopped and sucked in a breath of air and exhaled with a laugh.

Brady rested his back against a cask, "What's so funny?"

Samson roared with laughter, then waned with a long breath. He sniffed and raised his head from the ground.

"I almost felt bad, you know," Samson's face fell, and he looked at Brady with a heavy stare. "Killing her."

Brady straightened and shot up from the cask. "What?"

"She was beautiful. That lovely hair. Those blue eyes. A true treasure."

Brady rushed toward Samson and stood over him, "What are you talking about?"

Samson stared into Brady's eyes with a dark grin gripping his lips. He winced and turned away, "She was searching for you. She really loved you. She did. But, orders are orders. We can't have loose ends, you understand."

Brady knelt down and forced Samson upright, then threw him against the wooden frame. It quaked against Samson's weight stuck against the wood.

Brady felt his heart beat out against his chest. His stomach churned and soured his cheeks. "Who?" His voice broke, and wavered helplessly. "Maker, what did you do?"

Samson's eyes fluttered closed.

Brady gripped Samson's shoulders and scowled, his chest wound up tight enough to evacuate the air from his lungs.

"You didn't even notice, did you?" Samson's eyes opened into narrow slits. "Wrapped up in your booze, your vanity… the good boy who saves the world. You're no better than us," the corner of his mouth curled up. "Can you live with knowing it was all your fault?"

"What did you do, Samson?" Brady said, his voice agonized and sharp.

"Your sister… Grace, is it? Yes, Grace. She saw us take you. Brave little thing followed us to the docks." Samson raised his eyes and nodded. "Put up a fight, too."

Brady's eyes welled and reddened, he sniffed and looked away from Samson, then returned his eyes to him, an explosive fury surfaced on his face.

"You're lying."

"I meant for it to be quick, but," Samson tipped his head. "I'm sure you know how resiliant the girl is."

Brady's body trembled. The sickening churn of Brady's stomach crept up and ignited his throat with a sensational stinging. His head fell, and he whimpered. His grip tightened around Samson's shoulders.

Samson dipped his head with a slick smirk, "Do you want to know what her last words were?"

Brady clamped his hands underneath Samson's shoulder plates and threw him away from the wooden frame. Brady shot up and gripped onto the hairs of his scalp and bellowed an agonizing cry. Samson laid on his back, against the hard floor.

"She thought you would save her," Samson snickered. "She screamed your name."

Brady sniffed and stilled, and looked at Samson with a blaze bubbling behind his eyes. He mounted Samson, his fists hammered down and crunched into Samson's face. Warm blood splattered onto Brady's knuckles and face. He fell into a frenzy. Samson gargled and choked beneath him, his breath shallowed with each blow.

Brady went numb. He sputtered and bellowed, his vision blurred by his swollen eyes. Each strike plunged with enough force to punch right through Samson and scratch the flooded floor.

His strikes slowed, and he collapsed against Samson's chest. He wept, cursing the Maker aloud. He stared up at the ceiling and gasped for air, but it did nothing to combat the strangulation that rung around his throat.

The rush of armored boots approached behind him. He felt a pull on his shoulders, but didn't budge, and fought against the restraint on his shoulders. More forces wrapped around him and hugged his chest, then drug him away from Samson.

The King's agents surrounded Samson and called for a healer. He saw Samson's bludgeoned face, his body still. Healers hurried to Samson and cast spells to keep him breathing.

Brady looked down at his hands. They were caked in blood, his clothes soaked and stained purple with wine.

Agents latched onto his arms and helped him up, urging him to be treated by a healer. He shook them off and skulked away from the scene. He dodged the agents carrying braziers and slumped down against the stone wall.

Brady rested the back of his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His head fell and he rested his head in his hands, the blood that stained them was cold against the heat of his face.

The stairs collected and emulated a pattern of patters, quick down the steps. Agents stormed into the wine cellar and assessed the scene. Some found Damon and were quick to work on dressing his wounds.

Leliana turned the corner of the staircase and proceeded through the wine cellar with caution. She found Brady seated on the floor and rocking back and forth. He bumbled with his head against his knees, his fingers atop of his head, tugging at his short locks.

She glanced at the frantic agent's surrounding Samson's body. They barked orders of the healers, and the healers emulated more magic, a green glow encapsulating around them.

"Brady?" She said.

He was unfazed by the sound of her voice. He sniffed and gasped. The bulky knot in his throat silenced any attempt he made to speak.

She sat down beside him and repeated, "Brady?"

She rested a hand on his knee.

"He killed her," he sobbed. "Maker, he killed her."

Leliana knit her brows together and glanced back at Samson, "Who?"

He shot his back against the wall and looked at the ceiling.

Leliana shuddered at the sight of his face. He turned to her, his eyes were bloodshot and invaded the coolness of his blue eyes, making them prominent and unsettling.

There was no expression on his face. He appeared as a bloodied slab of stone beside her. He fell limp and slouched his forehead onto her shoulder. She wrapped him tight in her arms, and fought the curiousness that overtook her mind. The tears that escaped his eyelids soaked her shoulder.

He bore all his weight onto her, and she accepted it without a fret. His agonizing breaths stung against her chest. Her body overcame with his infecting emotion.

She shut her eyes and clutched him closer.


	12. Desperate Times, Unholy Measures

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I thought today would be appropriate to post this chapter which may or may not have some spoooky elements to it. This has been a blast to write and I hope everyone is still enjoying this tale. Right now, there is a haunted house on campus, so I doubt I'll be getting any sleep with this eerie music echoing into my apartment. So feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you and reply with my own thanks and answer any questions you have. This is really a fun little project and sometimes the brain to page translation may get lost by my own impatience to get to the nitty gritty of the story.**

 **With that, I really hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to come. Thank you!**

* * *

Brady rode through the countryside on his mare. The sun peaked over the grassy hills and glistened pink and orange on the dewed plains of grass. Farmers and their hands were ready at work, far removed from their small cottages and tending their land and livestock with silent autonomy.

Past the farmland was a small village, quiet and vacant with the emerging morning. He slowed his mare to a trot and found solace in the surrounding villagers hidden away in their homes and the silence of being alone.

A brisk wind licked the open cuts on his face. A shiver shot through his body and singed his bruised ribcage. The pain, despite his determination to ignore it, reminded him of the night. The memory festered and stung more than any physical wound.

He was unaware of Samson's condition. He left Leliana and Damon at the Dark Wolf's estate and disappeared into the night without a second thought. The Maker himself could not will him to remain there. Watching the Crown's healers howl orders in desperation to keep Samson alive sickened him.

Grace was gone, taken from him by the malice of his enemy. There was no fault to the matter but his own. The truth throttled his throat and occupied his thoughts with a painful persistence. He failed her. He failed his family. Punishment came with every passing moment.

He rode through the village and rested atop a grassy hill that overlooked the simple plains of the farmland. His mare rested beside him and settled against the soft grass. He ran his hand across the mare's mane with an absent mind. The mare looked into his eyes for a moment, then laid her head across her front legs.

With the silence came torturous thoughts of Grace from memories he cherished.

The childhood they shared, neglecting their schoolwork and adventuring in the garden, masquerading about as virtuous knights slaying imaginary dragons, beating the petals off Lady Mira's roses, pretending they were the beast's flames.

The balls and soirees they were forced to attend, dressed in tight, uncomfortable ruffled formal wear. Ostwicks' nobles laughed at the pair and their indifference to their obligations. They ran about the ballrooms and wager on who could collect the most coins from family and friends, the loser forced to speak to the group of dowagers for the rest of the evening.

Brady, as a reluctant little lord, escaped from his weapons instructor to find Grace in the drawing room, where she would sneak small drawing lessons before he was found and drug back into the training yard. More than a few times, Grace, through pure charm and the undeniable gleam in her bright eyes, convinced the weapons instructor to give Brady the rest of the evening off.

His father, unapproachable after the news of his mother's death, went to Kirkwall after the funeral. When Brady was left alone to mourn, Grace remained at his side, determined to distract his mind from the inconsolable sadness that plagued him day after day.

Grace made it her duty to deflect Mira's scorn away from Brady his entire life. If not for her, Brady knew Mira would have forced him out of the estate the second he was old enough to fend for himself. When Mira discussed the idea of sending Brady to the templars with their father, Grace overheard and burst into their father's study with tears in her eyes, begging them to not send away her only brother.

He was meant to protect her, as she did for him, always.

Shallow breaths heaved from his tight chest. He bellowed a heavy weep, curling his fingers into his fists and pressing them against his forehead. The open air he sucked into his lungs felt shallow. He shut his eyes and forced tears from the corners of his eyes to dampen his cheeks in cracked rivulets.

A pair of footsteps dug up the hill behind him and rustled the grass. Brady rubbed his face with his undershirt and reopened the few healed wounds on his face. He dabbed his shirt over the open lashes, but it was in vein. They continued to bleed, and replaced the tears from his eyes with a thick flow of crimson blood.

He glanced over his shoulder at the approaching footsteps, then snapped his eyes back to the vista in front of him. His mare shot to her feet and bellowed an ear-piercing cry. She kicked her front legs up and took off down the hill.

"You look like shit, wow," a man said. His voice was familiar, but lifted with an eerie air.

Brady sniffed and flicked his thumb across his nose. The man plopped beside him on the hill and greeted him with a curious gaze, inspecting Brady's bloodied face. He whistled and laughed.

Brady turned his head to him with a sneer. The man was unfazed by Brady's scorn and held a smile across his lips.

The man was muscular in stature, dressed in casual brown trousers and boots with a loose tunic. His outstretched collar drooped down to below his collar bone. He possessed black eyes and dark hair cropped by his jawbone. His neck bore a thick, bruised circular ring. His pale skin was stretched thin over the boney structure of his face.

The man dipped his head and suppressed a chuckle. "Seen better days, huh, Inquisitor?"

Brady stiffened, his stomach jumped and rose to his chest. "How do you-"

"How do I know who you are?" The man finished, his black eyes on Brady. They sucked Brady into a darkened abyss and swirled like black smoke. "I think you know. We're big fans, really. Love your work."

"Is this some sort of joke?"

"No joke," the man's face dropped and projected a sinister intensity. "No joke at all."

Brady swallowed hard. The man held his glare, then smiled. The smoke in his eyes dissipated and returned to a pure shade of black. Brady clenched his jaw and turned away, blindly staring ahead. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk, that's all," he admitted.

"I'm really not in the fucking mood," Brady's voice was curt.

The man hummed, "I know."

Brady curled his upper lip and shot a glare at the man. "Then, what you are doing here?"

"Your pain," the man rose his hands and clenched his fists. "That anger. I felt it. I think we all did." He stretched his fingers and straightened his back, sprawling his legs out across the slope of the hill. He shrugged, "I can help you."

"I don't want your help."

The man chuckled, "You do not even know what I can offer you." His voice grew into a distorted proposition. "Haven't you suffered enough? Isn't it time to just give in?"

Brady's face stoned as he gifted the man with his eyes and reluctantly opened his ears to his words.

"You're a good Andrastian boy, and good for you. But have you ever just asked yourself where that has gotten you?" The man asked. "Your freedom, your woman, your hand," he glanced at the metallic contraption and failed to stifle an uproarious laugh. "But I guess you are 'all right' now, huh?"

Brady twitched and threw a hard punch into the man's chin. His jaw disjointed and fell crookedly agape, dangling from his face. The man rolled his eyes at Brady, the blackness in his eyes grew corrupted by orange embers. He clicked his jaw in place with a swift snap of his hand, then rubbed his chin. "I deserved that."

"Fuck you," Brady spat.

The man pointed with a disturbing glee infecting his expression, "There it is. How does it feel? Good, right?"

Brady washed with regret. He pulled his eyes away from the man and took deep breaths to ease the fire that ignited in his chest and scorched every nerve ending.

"Trishara had you all wrong. It's not desire that drives you," The man curled his lip. "It's anger. Rage."

Brady gasped for air, but felt his will fade within him. His mind feigned and struggled to resist the temptation that overtook his body.

"Give in," the man insisted. "Don't you deserve to?"

Brady stared into the man's eyes and felt the despair in his heart fade and fall to a boiling hot, red entity. His body calmed as his chest heaved with every breath, the air in his lungs absorbed by an uncontrollable fire.

* * *

Samson coughed and winced in his bindings. His crimson, electric eyes lit his face in the center of the darkened room where he sat alone. A single candle flickered beside the door, feeble in its attempts to shed light.

Leliana entered and glared at Samson. His eyes were swollen, almost unable to display his blighted eyes. Stitches ran down both sides of his cheeks, straining to hold his face together. She never saw someone live through these injuries, and rejected to believe Brady caused so much damage with his bare hands.

"Pretty Nightingale," he uttered. "How is our dear inquisitor?"

She narrowed her eyes, "What were you doing at the Dark Wolf's estate?"

"You can say Marjolaine, m'lady. Unless that name upsets you."

Leliana huffed and the corner of her mouth twitched. "Do not mistake the fact we let you breathe with mercy."

"I would never."

Leliana approached him with slow, clicking steps that echoed across the room, "Good." She looked into his eyes and released the strain on her face, bestowing a stoic expression. "Answer my question."

He sniffed and craned his neck, pulling his face away from her. "Answer mine."

"I will not play this game with you."

"Game?" he chuckled, then coughed. "I play no game. Tell me, does he know you saved my life?" he tipped his head. "Will you tell him? How every able body dedicated hours of stress with the purpose to keep me breathing? Are you afraid of him, Nightingale? Of how he will react?"

Leliana clenched her jaw, her eyes never straying from Samson. He smirked, the stitches in his cheek scrunched against the wrinkles of his face.

"I would love to speak to him. Is he here? I wonder if this interrogation you are attempting at would be more enlightening if he were in here with us. Could that be arranged? I'm not going anywhere for the time being, I suspect."

"Is the Dark Wolf connected to the dagger?"

"Bring our inquisitor in. I'm sure he has questions I would love to answer."

Leliana pressed her brows together, "He will not join us, Samson. It is just me and you."

"For what reason?" he cocked his head and leaned forward. "Is he busy? Has that incessant will of his finally broken?" he scoffed. "You would know. I know you would. Or, is he unapproachable, even for you? Can he not bear the sight of anyone?"

"He would kill you, Samson. Without a thought."

He chuckled, "I believe he already tried. The coward is too weak to finish what he started. But, I do not have to inform you of that, do I? From what I have heard, you know that all too well."

Leliana flicked a dagger from its sheathe and pressed the blade underneath Samson's chin. He remained unfazed, glancing down at the blade with a smile and flickering his crimson eyes to her face.

"You wish to know about the dagger? How this entire mess begun?"

Leliana shrugged, "It's a good place to start." She applied pressure to the flat of the blade.

He pursed his lips to the side. "We placed a pretty whore in front of him. The dog couldn't resist following her home."

A heat arose beneath her cheeks. "Do not lie to me."

His face fell, his expression stone. "That is no lie." His voice reverberated through the room with a blighted vibration. "We caught him, cornered him. The first thing he did?"

Leliana curled her lip, "Enough of this."

"He threw himself in front of her," he laughed. "That dog would give his life for a harlot." He lowered his voice, "I expected it. I would bet he'd do the same for you."

Leliana's nose scrunched, the dagger pushing deeper into Samson's skin. He swallowed, the edge of the blade scraped against his throat.

"Marjolaine told us all so much about you. This… thing… you are trying to do, a horrible act. I know better. You have no teeth. Just a tiny child who frightens herself whenever she sees the reflection in the looking glass."

"Is that why you chose to work with her? To get to me?"

"Careful, you do not want to flatter yourself."

"Then, why trust her? Florianne would have known better."

"A necessary evil."

Leliana cocked her head, "She would sell your secrets as soon as she could."

"Coin is nothing to Marjolaine now. You may find her, but by the time you do- I assure you- it will be much too late."

"For what?"

Samson rolled his shoulders and grumbled. "Could you bring in your healers? I'm starting to feel sore," he chuckled. "That inquisitor of yours, could he replace my bandages? Or perhaps you can? Can he watch?"

Leliana backed away and sheathed her blade. She sighed, "Thank you, Samson, for your cooperation." She turned away and headed for the exit. "We are not done here."

She walked through the threshold and slammed the door behind her. Damon stood across from her, his back against the stone dungeon wall. He looked down and shook his head. Leliana sighed and locked the heavy door.

"Are you okay?" Damon asked. "That bastard, I heard what he said."

Leliana gestured for Damon to follow her up to the main floor. He groaned and hobbled up the stairs behind her, leaning on the rickety wood railing. They closed the dungeon entrance and stood at the main floor.

Leliana wrinkled her brow and toyed with her upper lip, her eyes cast to the side. "Something feels wrong," she looked at Damon. "He tried to bait me."

"Makes sense. If he controlled the conversation-"

"It was more as though he wanted to test me," Leliana said. "If I would give in."

"To what?" Damon tipped his head and itched the nape of his neck. "Like torture?"

"Maybe. I doubt he actually believes I would do such a thing." She narrowed her eyes. "He tried tempting me to do something, but I cannot imagine what exactly he expected to get out of me."

"He brought up Brady. Taunting him, even. You think he thought he was on the other side of the door?" Damon stretched his jaw and a low huff arose from his chest, "Thank the Maker he wasn't."

"He would have finished Samson off." Leliana's voice was low.

Damon shrugged and replied with a calm reasoning, "Who wouldn't in his shoes? The kid deserves some justice."

"Justice," Leliana repeated. Her brow wrinkled. She stared at Damon, her eyes stretched open. Damon knit his brows together and studied Leliana's face for access to her thoughts. Her tone filled with haste, "We need to find Brady."

She started for the hall until Damon rose his voice, "Hold on." She glanced back at him and he slowly twisted to face her. "We shouldn't bother him. Not yet."

She deflated with a heavy breath, "Damon-"

Damon's face scrunched, "He just lost his sister."

"That is my point," she said with conviction. "I do not believe she is dead."

Damon stopped and squinted at her. "What?" He waved his hand and approached her, scanning the hall for others, then lowered his voice to a murmur. "No."

"He wanted me to let Brady into the room. He wants Brady to kill him," Leliana explained. "You have to trust me."

Leliana turned away. Damon reached for her arm and held her in place. A sharp wince escaped him. She glanced at his hand. He sighed and released her from his grip. He leaned forward and looked at her with a sharp edge in his gaze.

"Listen to me," he pled. "You better know, without a single doubt in your mind, that she's okay. Because he'll believe you. Do you understand? He won't question you for a second. And if she's not? If Samson truly took her life?" he sighed. "You'll just give him false hope. And trust me, that is worse than no hope at all."

She shot her eyes to her feet with a nod.

"I know you want to help him. Maker, I do, too. I hope you're right," Damon argued. "But don't lay this on him. Not yet. Get the truth first," he pulled on a small smile. "You're good at that."

"Tell Alistair to place more guards to watch the dungeon," Leliana insisted. "If I am right, we cannot have Samson get what he wants."

Damon nodded and watched Leliana storm down the hall. He looked at the ceiling and blew a heavy breath from pursed lips. He fell into a chair with a grunt and stretched out his legs, wrapping his hand around the bandaged puncture wound on his thigh.

"More guards," he murmured to himself and slumped into his seat. "Got it… in a moment or two."


	13. The Best Kind of Healing

Brady's teeth ground together, his jaw set with a growl rumbling from his chest. He tasted ash on his tongue. His eyes welded shut as he pulled the leash on his mind tight, fighting the scalding licks of flame that encouraged him to release his grip.

The man stood over Brady and pulled on his blonde locks, forcing his neck to crane and stare into the deep dark eyes with shards of amber swirling around the pool of black. Brady snarled, his breaths labored and heavy, flaring his nostrils.

The man ticked his tongue and shook his head. He placed a wide, serpent's smile across his lips. "Do not be so difficult. It's much too late for you to stop this now." Brady stared into the man's eyes, unblinking. The man cocked his head and let out a short breath, his eyes scanning the landscape behind Brady. "Have it your way."

The man's face tightened and he stabbed his hand into Brady's chest, summoning him to his feet. The fabric of his jacket simmered and smoked underneath the man's touch. The red-hot heat seeped through his clothing and spread across his chest, engulfing his lungs and heart with a scorching inferno. The unbearable scent of burning flesh rose from his chest and lingered underneath his nose, leaving a sick taste on his tongue.

Brady suppressed a howl with his clenched teeth, his mouth foaming with every shot of pain that wracked through his body. He forced his metallic hand to grip the man's wrist. The metal heated and burned the skin underneath the metal cap around his upper arm. He focused his mind on the magic tether to the metallic hand and used every once of strength in him to tear the man's hand away from his chest.

He rose the man's arm above his head and curled his upper lip, watching the man's eyes grow with surprise. He glanced at his elevated hand and murmured, "Interesting." He fought against Brady's hold. His arm vibrated as he fought to gain control.

Brady reached behind his back and pulled Ole' Bastard from its sheathe, flicking the blade upwards and plunging the tip of the long blade through the man's armpit until the hilt slammed into his shoulder bone.

The man barked an agonizing cry. Brady yanked the man's arm higher, severing the tendons in his shoulder and pushing his hand down on the bottom of the grip, angling the blade downward and severing the man's arm from his body.

Brady tossed the severed arm behind him and dropped into a crouch, wrapping both hands around the grip of the blade and shooting the metal in between the man's ribcage until the tip poked through his back.

The embers in the man's eyes fluttered and dissipated as smoke fell from his lips with a short breath. Blackness invaded the white of his eyes and his head went limp, his cheek brushing against the serrated shoulder. Brady held the blade inside of the man until his entire body shuttered and collapsed to the ground.

He forced the blade out of the man's body and leaned on his blade as his knees gave out. He took deep, heavy heaves of air. Each breath strained the burns across his chest. They cracked and constricted with each lungful of clean, country air.

He staggered to his feet and stumbled back, using Ole' Bastard to regain his balance. He took a long look at the corpse. The blackness in the man's dead eyes sucked in the sunlight. He turned his eyes to the country vista and gripped his wounded chest with a wince. The blood on his blade released ribbons of black smoke. He wiped Ole' Bastard clean and slipped it back into its sheathe.

He stumbled down the hill and scanned the open fields for his mare. He kept his eyes up and took slow steps down the hill's slope. He called out, "Princess," but the mare's name died halfway on his tongue. He cleared his throat and shuffled to the bottom of the hill, "Princess?"

Galloping hooves dug into the ground to his left. He glanced over and watched Princess slow to a canter. He smiled at her and ran his hand across her mane when she stopped in front of him, popping her front hooves into the soft ground.

He attempted to climb onto the saddle and slid off with a deep growl in his throat. Princess peered at him and lowered her back. He breathed a short laugh and threw his leg over the side of the saddle and settled as she rose back up.

He stroked her mane and murmured, "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Leliana dispatched scouts to Ostwick with orders to return word to her on the whereabouts of Grace Trevelyan. She sat in the garden until anticipation bubbled from her stomach and simmered in her chest. She walked the grounds alone, thoughtless as servants zoomed around her, some stealing a glance, then returning to their tasks.

Brady hadn't returned to the Royal Palace. His bloody hands and lifeless eyes flashed in her mind from the night at the Dark Wolf's estate. Those hands once traced her skin and left trails of warmth on her bare body on cold nights Skyhold. They toyed and tangled in her hair and sent soft shivers through her body at the mere thought that they would caress her. They were always so warm, so wanted.

Now, they were mangled and crimson in her head. They were weapons, meant to kill whatever they touched. The one, still soft and sure, a remnant of what he was before the exalted council, when he was whole. The other, a metallic monstrosity, unnatural at his side and subjecting him to pain and suffering, a constant reminder of how distant he was from the happiness held in the past.

She shook her head, as though it would shoo away the thought. No matter what she heard, what she saw, there was something there that assured her that he was still there, that there was a light in the darkness that surrounded him. She couldn't decide if it was present in his smile, or his voice, but she felt it, that familiar warmth that she found infinite comfort in.

That internal flame that blazed with love and passion, hope and happiness- she lost its heat when he left the Grand Cathedral, and the world around her never felt so cold. With his return, her skin thawed, and the ice of the world dripped and dried, leaving puddles of the past to splash underneath her feet.

She sat on a bench outside of the garden. She folded her fingers together and shut her eyes, shouting a silent prayer to the Maker. Grace needed to be alive, she needed to be right. Brady would plunge deeper into darkness if he had truly lost his sister. Through it all, she watched him endure. But this time, she was afraid it may be too much, and his will to push forward would dissipate and leave him to be a hopeless husk.

Her eyes flicked open. She pressed her folded hands to her lips and deflated her shoulders. She wished for his return. She hated that he may be alone, succumbing to the shadows and allowing them to consume him. What she hated more than anything, however, was her uselessness to save him from himself. Sending agents after him to bring him back to the Palace may have done more harm than good, she thought. But how long would she have to sit and wait until she was assured he was safe?

"Maker," she breathed. "Please bring him back to me."

* * *

Leliana spent the rest of the day distracting herself with paperwork, recording everything that occurred in the past week to be sent to Cassandra and Cullen at the garrison. The moon pushed the sun from the sky and brought a cool night upon the palace. She retired to her bedroom after swiping two wine bottles from the kitchen.

She sat beside her bedroom window, drinking and filling her wine glass in silence, watching thin, grey clouds pass through the pale yellow moonlight. The wine did nothing to soothe her tense muscles. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes.

A rustle arose from beneath her window. She set her wine on the table and opened the window to inspect the sound.

Brady scaled the side of the palace, cursing with each step in ascension, and smirked when she met his eyes. She moved the table away from the window and watched his fingers curl around the windowsill.

"Lil-" Brady groaned, his body halfway through the window sill. "Could you help me out here?"

She huffed with annoyance, but did not ignore the relief that surged through her body. She pulled on the bottom of his jacket and forced him through the window. "Was the front door broken?"

He laid on his back against the floor, his hands flat on the sides of his chest and rose with each shallow breath. He flicked his eyes to her, "Hi."

"Brady," she almost scolded, dropping to her knees beside him and inspecting the cuts on his face, half healed with thick, crusted scabs forming over them.

His eyes darted to the ceiling. "My chest, Lil."

She shot up from the floor, "You need a healer." He reached for her hand and clasped his fingers around hers with a stern head shake. Her brows twitched together, "Now is not the time for you to be stubborn."

He chuckled, then groaned, his hand slipping back onto his chest. His eyelids fluttered closed. "Please."

She huffed with protest, but returned to his side. She hovered over his chest and tore his jacket apart. Black soot darkened her fingers. She pulled a small dagger from the sheathe wrapped around her ankle and cut open the thin tunic beneath his jacket. His skin was pink with burn blisters forming across his chest. Bright red splotches the size of knuckles peeled away layers of skin and aligned beside the center of his breastbone. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed a sob. "Salves. Poultices," she said to no one. "Don't move."

She hustled to her bedroom drawer and cradled every salve, poultice, and potion she had to his side. She cut more of his clothes away and watched a diamond encrusted silverite ring fall beside his shoulder, projecting specks of blue underneath the candlelight.

Her breath hitched, but she continued to tear his clothes from his body, throwing the shambled pieces of fabric across the room. "So much for 'no more secrets,'" she murmured, hooking her fingers on both sides of the cut tunic and ripping the sewn seams apart until it was completely in two.

He opened an eye and rolled his head to her. He watched her reach for a salve. "I was going to tell you," His voice was low, soft on each word. Their eyes connected, and he watched the candlelight dance with the bright flecks of blue and green in her eyes.

She shook her head and ran her cool fingers- coated with the thick, slimy salve- across the burns on his chest. He winced as her touch ran over the red splotches. He shut his eyes tight and blew a heavy breath from his lips. She glanced to his face and saw his jaw flex and silence a pained howl. Her chest grew heavy and she forced her focus to where her hands crossed his chest.

"Tell me everything," her voice was even.

He peeked at her with one eye. "Everything?"

She reached for another salve and tapped the rosy liquid into her hand. Her eyes stayed on her hand, "You owe me that much."

He shut his eye and furrowed his brow. "I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. After the exalted council, it's the only thing I wanted. I didn't care about the future of the world, what we had to do to stop another world ending problem." She listened with investment as she rubbed another layer of salve over the burns on his chest. "It was a beautiful morning. The Val Royeaux marketplace was alive, and you were humming to the minstrel's song. I looked at you," he grinned with a small laugh. "And just remember being so happy. All the shit that happened to me… I just looked at you, and that weight was gone."

She circled her hands gently around the wounds on his breastbone. "I remember that day. It took you two hours to get out of bed."

"I do believe you were in bed with me, too, Lady Nightingale."

She chuckled and rose her brows, "You made a few very persuasive arguments."

He let out a laugh, "While you were distracted by a display of Antivan chocolates, I snuck into this small jeweler's store. I was so nervous you would catch me in there, the jeweler probably thought I was mad." He twitched his brows. "But when I saw the ring, it just clicked. I threw my entire coin purse at the jeweler. The whole sack of coin. I didn't bother even asking the price," He opened his eye and cocked a brow. "You know how hard it is to surprise you?"

She teetered her head side to side with a smile, "And yet you always manage to do it," she brought her eyes to him and back to his chest, "Mostly the unpleasant sort… but surprises none the less." She shrugged her shoulders, "Is that why you ignored me when I told you to buy the whole collection of chocolates?"

"I should have left that jewelry store and got down on one knee right then and there," he shook his head. "I'd been reading too many of Varric's romance serial, I guess… because I had it in my head it had to be this extravagant romantic display. Dinner, candlelight, fireworks. I wanted it to be so much. Enough. More than enough."

She blew a sigh from her nose, "You were more than enough."

"My mother never got the grand romantic gestures from my father. Everything about their love was secret rendezvous and stolen glances," he glared at the ceiling. "Maybe I wanted to give the woman I loved more than my mother ever had."

"You should have known better," she laughed and reached for the red health poultice, "I would considered the chocolates a grand gesture."

"Again with the chocolates," he rolled his eyes. "You know how hard it is to get chocolate stains out of silk bed sheets?"

She applied the health poultice to the burns with a hum on her lips, "You never complained."

"Who would?"

"All this time," she looked at him and asked in a small, earnest voice, "Why have you kept it?"

He welded his eyes shut. "It would have been easier to try to forget about that part of my life, move on. But I couldn't part with the ring. It was like I had this piece of us- what we had- with me. It gave me some peace, to remember what the real thing felt like. What happiness felt like."

The wounds on his chest reacted to the health poultice, fresh skin crawling over the scorched surface of his chest. With a low grunt, he sat up, the ring falling to the center of his chest. She wiped her hands with a piece of Brady's torn tunic and picked up a roll of gauze. She tossed the ring onto his shoulder and wound the gauze around his chest until it was tight and padded. She separated the gauze with her teeth and patted the soft cotton in place underneath his arm.

He tipped his head and appreciated every detail of her face, a smile pulling on the corner of his lips. She turned her head, her hair falling over her shoulder. Her eyes lightened at the sight of his smile. He cleared his throat and brought his eyes to the floor.

"I should've learned my lesson then," his voice was heavy. "There is never a right time or place, just the right one." His eyes looked into hers. He felt a warmth from her staying stare. "My sister is dead. I won't ever shake that feeling that I failed her. That I could have done more to save her," he took her hands into his. "I'm not the person that you met when the breach opened. I'm not the man you fell in love with," she leaned closer to him, tightening her grip on his hands. His shoulders fell, and he slumped forward. "But I love you, Leliana. With every part of me, I love you."

Leliana's voice escaped with a soft breath, "Brady."

He tore his eyes away and looked at their hands. The crude nature of his metallic hand was silenced by her petite, warm hand surrounding the cold metal pipes. He ran his metal thumb over the top of her hand. "If you don't feel the same… it's been a long time and I- I wouldn't expect you to," his nose inhaled a sharp sniff. "I just needed you to know."

"I love you," she said with a gentle softness and dropped her shoulders, placing a hand on his cheek, "there was not a second where I ever stopped."

Color filled his face and he leaned into her touch, pecking her wrist with a soft kiss. Her fingers wrapped around his wrists and gently pulled him to her. Her eyes solely focused on his lips. Her warm breath settled beneath his nose and smelled of candy floss and cherry wine. He noticed where her eyes lingered and ran his tongue across his white teeth. With an aching slowness, her lips neared his. He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath rattling in his chest.

"What are you waiting for?" she hummed with a murmur.

He flashed a smile and laughed, "I'm trying to figure out," his hand rose to her face and moved a wisp of hair from her face, "If I want you on the floor or if I can manage to carry you onto the bed."

She snickered and ran her hand through his soft blonde hair behind his ear. He toyed with her, bringing himself close enough to kiss, only to heat her cheeks with the warmth of his breath and body and quickening her heartbeat until it drummed with a deafening rhythm.

"I have had a pretty exhausting day," he uttered on her lips with a slick smirk. "Perhaps it would be best if I retire to my quarters."

"Oh," she scoffed and pressed her hand on the back of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair, "Shut up and kiss me."

She pressed a deep, hungry kiss against his lips, suppressing a whimper that arose from his familiar, intoxicating taste. He ran his hands down the curves of her body and secured his hands underneath her upper thighs, rising her from the floor and setting her onto his lap. She nipped his lower lip and tore away from their kiss. He flipped her nightgown up over her head and wound it into a loose ball of fabric, then tossed it towards the bedroom door.

He buried his head into the crook of her neck and ran his tongue underneath her jaw. She shivered as the warmth of his tongue was replaced by soft lips trailing playful kisses across her neck, making a game of quickening her pulse. The night's breeze caressed the damp trails of his lips with a cool air.

He ran his cold, metallic fingers down her spine in slow, careful strides. It reached the small of her back and urged her body closer, closing any space that was capable of existing between them. She reached down to his belt and fiddled with the buckle. His throat vibrated with protest. He bound her wrists together with a single hand and received her eyes with a frown.

He lowered his gaze to her breasts, rising and falling with each short breath. He laid a line of quick kisses on her collarbone and gently tugged each bra strap from her shoulders, scraping his teeth down her chest. "You first," he murmured, then quickly unclasped the back of her laced bra. He wrapped his hands around her body and pressed her chest against his, reveling in the touch of her soft, hot skin.

Her hips rocked like slow, rhythmic waves. He lifted her from the floor and felt her legs lock around his waist, her arms secure on his shoulders. He laid her on the bed and settled between her legs. He ignored the pain that tinged throughout his body and focused on her completely, captivated by the familiar look of love and longing possessing her eyes and every small movement she made.

He rose and straightened his back, his knees cradled between her thighs. Her feet hooked around the back of his legs. His eyes scoured every inch of her. His darted across his lips as his body froze, enamored by her tangled red hair spilled across the bed sheets to the mist of sweat glistening on her body, then back to her eager eyes. She lifted herself from the bed and wound a finger around his silver chain, pulling him back against her body with a kiss.

Between ravenous kisses and thrashing across the bed, giving and taking control until desire urged them to melt into one, Brady felt a wave of calm relax every muscle and nerve ending. He couldn't determine whether it was when he was when he told her words he longed for her to hear, or if it was the divinity encapsulated in her euphoric method of making love to him, but the clenched claws of pain and sorrow released their grip on his mind.

In her arms- above her, beneath her- he felt salvation.


	14. The Family Reunion- Who we introducin?

No terrors crept into Brady's dreams in the night, no shot of fear to interrupt his heavy sleep. He nestled into Leliana's arms. Dawn perched itself onto the clouds and glistened pink light into the bedroom. He rested his eyes, the warmth of her body lulled him into a sleepy comfort. He nuzzled closer and tangled his arms and legs around her petite frame.

Leliana watched her fingers run through the mess of his golden locks, her face calm and content, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth with every lazy breath that escaped him and tickled her bare skin.

He muttered in a low, groggy voice, "What now?"

She giggled, her fingers slipping down to the nape of his neck, "Brady Trevelyan's pillow talk," he breathed a laugh and glanced up to her face, a smile stretched across her lips. "After an entire night of love-making, he nonchalantly asks you of the future."

His head returned to her stomach, pressing a kiss above her naval. He settled back into her body, the soft, wispy stubble on his jawline and cheek brushed her skin. "No time like the present."

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice a soft breath.

He slid her underneath his frame and settled in between her legs, laying his chest against hers and planting a deep, slow kiss on her lips. "You," he said between kisses. She smiled against his mouth and pushed her hands on his shoulders. His chest rose from hers, and he watched her eyes dance on his face.

"Down boy," she scolded with a smile, her eyes narrowed. "If we start now, we will never leave this bed."

"The problem being…?"

"The problem being," she repeated, her voice fading into thought. He cocked a brow and pecked a kiss onto her cheek, then slowly drug his lips underneath her jaw. She swallowed, "There's work to be done."

"Mhm," he hummed against her skin, burying his head in the crook of her neck, his hot breath accompanying slow, slick kisses.

She whimpered, tipping her neck to allow him to pry closer, "Damon will be waiting for us-" he trailed his teeth down her neck and pecked kisses down to her collarbone. His hands followed the curves of her body and clasped around her hips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tugged at the blonde locks on the back of his head, pressing his face deeper into her skin. "Was last night not enough for you?"

He rocked his hips between her legs, her soft skin paling beneath his fingertips. His teeth brushed her skin as a small chuckle erupted from his chest, "I can never have enough of you."

She tightened her arms around him and forced him onto his back. She mounted his hips, the white satin sheets brushed up against her lower back. He settled underneath her and marveled at her bare body- the sunlight glistening on her skin and highlighting the light shades of blue speckled in her eyes.

He relinquished all control and allowed her to do as she pleased. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she pressed the back of his hands down against the mattress, pinning them down with a calculated force. Her face lingered inches away from his, her red hair curtained down side of her face and tickled his cheek.

"Lady Nightingale," a coy grin stretched across his lips. "What about all that work?"

She pressed his hands deeper into the mattress and brought her lips inches away from his. "Well now," she murmured. "It can wait."

Her mouth claimed his with a slow, teasing kiss.

A knock banged against the door. They greeted the sound with a glare and deep frowns. Leliana climbed off him and fixed a robe onto her body. Brady sprawled his body across the mattress with a heavy sigh. Leliana popped her head into the hall and stepped out of the bedroom. Brady rolled out of bed and slipped his undergarments on and fiddled with trinkets on the dresser.

Leliana shuffled back into the bedroom. He turned to her and grinned at her hesitation, her eyes captivated by his tight, chiseled stomach and the prominent outline pressed against the loose fabric of his undergarments.

"Everything alright?" he asked, placing a trinket down on the dresser.

"My agents found a dead courier from the garrison just outside of the city."

He approached her. "Duty calls, then?" he grabbed her hands and flashed a smile, "As much as I want to ravish every inch of you," he bit down on his lip and stared at her mouth. The corner of his mouth ticked up, "this seems important." He pressed a kiss onto her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling into her hair. He pressed her into his chest, "Be careful."

* * *

Brady procrastinated the act of slipping on clothes until the sun was high over the palace and servants scrambled outside to prepare breakfast for the king and his attendants. He climbed out of Leliana's bed and rummaged through her drawers for proper attire to walk the halls of the palace without being gawked at.

His search relied on the hunch that she kept a few articles of clothing for herself from their shared quarters at the Grand Cathedral. He was right. Her top drawer contained her favorite night gowns. Buried beneath was a loose, long sleeved white undershirt. He almost laughed at the memory of her small body swimming in his large shirt before retiring to bed beside him.

The bottom drawer was tight with leather training pants, each with a waist that would catch above Brady's knee. He rummaged through and found a long-lost pair of night pants, the strings of the waistband pulled tight and knotted to fit her waist. He spent several minutes picking his fingers to loosen the knot. Upon its release, he slipped them on and exited Leliana's room.

A wide-eyed servant observed him come from the Lady's bedroom and swallowed hard. Brady ignored his reaction and inquired about the Warden. The servant blinked and suggested the infirmary down the left wing. Brady thanked him and headed towards the left wing.

He tapped his knuckle against the cracked door of the small infirmary. The door creaked open. The infirmary was a decent size with a cot against the wall and a shelf of jars and texts lining the opposite side of the room, with a single-paned window carved into the back wall that shed sunlight into the stone walled room.

Damon laid on the raised cot with his head propped up on a pillow and greeted Brady with a grin, then sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth as the healer stroked a damp cloth over the laceration on his thigh.

Brady stood beside Damon's head and watched the healer coat his wound with a thick, sticky yellow salve. He crossed his arms and flicked his chin at the wound, "You aren't healing."

Damon snarled, stifling an array of curses with a hiss behind his teeth. He pressed his head into the pillow and welded his eyes shut. The healer rose the cloth away and stared down at the wound. His brows pushed together with a huff. He shook his head and urged Damon to remain on the cot and rest until he returned.

The healer left the infirmary and shut the door. Brady took the healer's seat and studied the gaping wound. It seemed fresh, the skin still separated from the puncture wound. He glanced at Damon, "Why aren't you healing?"

Damon opened his eyes. Fear flickered in his stare. He swallowed hard, then groaned, blowing a heavy breath from his nostrils. "Everyone is trying to figure that out. I have an idea, but," he glanced at his though and closed his eyes, "Maker, I don't want to be right."

"You've survived worse."

"Alistair said the same thing," Damon cracked a smile, "But I think he was referring to Morrigan."

"Perhaps she could help."

Damon rose his hand and thumbed the gold ring on his finger, "She's concerned. She must've sensed that I'm in pain," he made a fist, "This thing hasn't stopped buzzing since last night."

"Should we be expecting a dragon to land in the courtyard?"

Damon chuckled. "I wish. Much more exciting than a squawking crow."

Brady deflated his shoulders and hung his head, running his fingers from his hairline down to the back of his neck. The healer returned with two mages flanked behind him. Brady left his seat and stood with his back against the wall in the back corner of the infirmary.

The healer sat beside the wound and directed the two mages at the festering wound. His voice was flat, "It's deflecting any healing magic. I've been treating it with basic practices, but even that doesn't seem to help the healing."

One mage, a slender blonde woman draped in a decorated circle robe, knelt beside the healer. The other mage, an older man with gray hairs peppering his temples, remained behind the female mage. She examined the wound with inquisitive ticks of her head with every inspected detail.

Damon huffed, "Things to do, people to see."

The older mage scoffed, "Grey Warden bravado never ceases to surprise me." Damon twitched his upper lip and rubbed the back of his head into the pillow.

The female mage rose to her feet and waved the older mage for his own examination. He hummed, then placed his hands between the wound. A golden glow lightened his fingertips and emulated around Damon's thigh. He peered into the laceration and cocked a brow, "Interesting," he shot a condescending glance at the healer behind him, "You didn't catch this?"

The healer scrunched his face and stood from his seat, "What?" He examined the inside of the wound and grumbled, falling back into his seat.

"I expect a letter of thanks from Weisshaupt, Warden," the older mage said. He released Damon's thigh and pulled on a leather pair of gloves.

The female mage approached Damon's head and placed a leather slab in between his teeth and pressed her fingers on his temples, "I'll try to help with the pain, but my magic may be voided by the shard."

Brady perked up from the wall and watched the older mage split the wound wide open with his fingers. Damon snapped his teeth into the leather, his body shook with the muted yelp that slipped through his gnashed teeth.

The older mage reached into the wound. The female mage blanketed Damon's body with a green aura. Damon wrapped his fingers around the sides of the cot, the sturdy wood groaned beneath his tight grip. The older mage focused on his hands operating on Damon's thigh. He extracted a glowing red shard from the wound and stepped away from the cot. Damon widened his eyes and took heavy breaths filled with relief. The female mage took the leather slab from his mouth.

"Holy Maker," Damon gasped. He craned his neck back into the cot with a labored sigh, then relaxed his body.

Brady approached the older mage, "Red lyrium?"

The older mage nodded, placing the shard into a wooden box, "He should heal properly now," the older mage addressed the healer, "Magic should help with the pain and the healing process. Get to it."

The healer nodded and returned to Damon's wound with urgency, his hands glowing above the wound and relieving Damon of the biting pain that remained.

"It can do that?" Brady's face tightened, his eyes fixed on the shard lighting the inside of the box with a violent gleam of crimson. "How?"

The older mage dropped his bloody leather gloves into a small burlap sack, "We only know so much about it, Inquisitor. The only relatively reliable research comes from your Inquisition. Since its disbandment, we have discovered so little. Templars do not want it anywhere near the circles, and they reject to study it themselves."

Brady looked over his shoulder to Damon, then returned his attention to the mage. "It could have killed him," he murmured.

"Yes. If I didn't catch it, he would have succumbed to infection," he faced Brady. "Red lyrium combats magic. It's blighted and grows like a cancer. My theory? It can disable the Grey Warden's abilities given to them by the taint. If it's anti-magic, it could also do the same to the Grey Warden's tainted blood. I could be wrong," he glanced at Damon. "It would be an insightful avenue to explore."

"Thank you," Brady bowed his head.

The older mage nodded and pointed his chin towards Brady's metallic hand, "Fascinating thing, that."

"So I've been told."

The mage studied Brady's hand for a long moment and opened his mouth to speak, but huffed and took his leave with a muttered farewell. The female mage followed him out.

The wound began to close beneath the healer's hands. He stopped and grabbed a roll of gauze, then proceeded to wrap Damon's leg tightly until it was bare. Damon lifted himself up and dangled his legs off the cot.

"Blighted son of a bitch," Damon murmured, shaking his head. "I wish you killed him."

"Where is he?"

"The dungeons. Rotting, Maker willing," Damon clamped his hand onto Brady's shoulder. Brady bore his weight until Damon settled on the floor, pushing against Brady's arm to keep balance. Brady handed Damon a thick, wooden cane with a silver handgrip.

Damon suggested breakfast, and Brady followed him into the dining hall.

There was a buffet of breakfast food sprawled across a wide wooden table that stretched from one end of the room to the other. Anora and Alistair occupied seats opposite of each other, muttering idle conversation and greeting Damon and Brady with a nod. They fixed themselves a plate until pastries and sweets piled into a flimsy tower of food.

Brady sat beside Anora and Damon plopped into the seat adjacent to Brady.

Anora turned her head to Brady, arching a single brow with her lips pursed. "Lady Nightingale?"

Brady told her of the dead courier. Anora nodded with a small laugh. Brady tipped his head and slid his eyes to Damon, also laughing with a mouthful of food. Damon swallowed and pointed his fork to Anora, "You heard it, too?"

Brady stretched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, darting them between Anora and Damon. Anora placed her forearms on the table and leaned towards Alistair. "Your Majesty, I believe that the guest wing is haunted."

Alistair's eyes widened, "Really?"

Damon nodded, "The moaning last night was near unbearable."

Brady choked on a breath, and they all laughed. Brady took a drink and uttered, "Maker."

Alistair was unamused, as though he was disappointed that no spirits lingered in the old palace halls.

"You owe me five sovereigns," Damon said to Anora.

She grumbled, "Bloody pirate."

"You took… bets?" Brady inquired, his mouth still agape.

"I didn't," Alistair announced, placing his hand on his chest. "I didn't even know-" Alistair's brows rose and he leaned forward in his seat, "You and Leliana? Really?"

"With all due respect, your majesty," Brady shifted in his seat. "I'd rather not speak of personal matters over breakfast."

Alistair disengaged, leaning back in his chair. Damon snorted, "He much rather have his personal matters keep us up all night."

Brady straightened his back and pulled on a smirk, "If you keep it up, I'll make sure I shake the foundation next time."

Alistair stifled a laugh. Anora kept quiet, her attention flashing between Brady and Damon. Damon thumbed his ring, "Just the foundation?"

"Oh," Alistair wretched and pushed his plate away, "Flashbacks. Terrible, terrible flashbacks."

Damon barked a laugh and flung a pastry at Alistair. Anora muttered an insult about men being complete children. Brady flashed her a smile, and she rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of the witch," Anora pointed her chin to Damon, "How is Lady Morrigan?"

"I don't know," he twisted the ring on his finger, "It seems you be able to ask her yourself soon enough."

Alistair grimaced then muttered a curse underneath his breath. "At least tell me she brings Kieran as well."

"No," Damon smirked and shook his head, "No Kieran. He is with my brother in Highever."

"And I believed I was to have a peaceful afternoon," Alistair shifted and smacked his hands against his thighs, "I should know better than to assume that by now. Next, Teagan will have me seated at my desk for hours picking seating arrangements."

Anora lifted a brow, "The Arl of Denerim requested you at his estate."

"And what does he want? Less guards in the Alienage?"

Anora slid her eyes between Brady and Damon, both eyeing their breakfast like it was the most interesting thing they have seen in their lives. Anora peered over the table at the disgruntled Alistair, "He claims he was attacked."

Alistair's eyes widened, "By the elves?"

Anora shook her head, "Two 'goons' is how he described them."

"They sound like a handsome pair, don't you agree, Inquisitor?" Damon said, a subtle smile pointed to Brady.

Brady pressed his palms into the edge of the table and stretched his spine over the back of his chair, "The blonde better looking than the other."

"Oh, ho ho," Alistair feigned a smile and darted his eyes at Damon. "Right. You rough up the Arl and I come, swooping in-"

"Swooping is bad, Alistair," Damon added with a smirk.

Alistair narrowed his eyes, "I come in and cover up any involvement you two had."

"Sounds about right," Damon shrugged.

"I could pull rank, you know," Alistair pouted and pointed his finger at Damon, "There he is! There's your goon!"

Damon snickered, "Maker, Alistair. I'll join you in the meeting with Vaughn just to see the look on his face when he realizes that I could end him where he sat."

"Yes, well, we're not going to do that," Alistair relaxed in his chair and sniffed, "still quite annoying of you."

"I apologize, your majesty," Damon grabbed his cane and stood up with a bow. He glanced at Brady. "But I do believe we have a visitor approaching."

Damon and Brady left the dining hall and walked the halls of the palace towards the main doors. Damon groaned and grunted with every step, relying on his cane to keep pace with Brady. They reached the main hall and stopped. A plethora of guards aligned on each side of the main doors, their spines straight and stares fixed forward with their chins slightly raised. Damon and Brady shared a confused look and watched the doors open wide.

Cassandra entered the main hall in front of Eleanor and Morrigan. Brady narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Cassandra walked straight towards them and stopped at their feet and grinned with a small nod. Morrigan pushed through their formation and gripped Damon's shoulders, worry flooding her eyes as he grimaced at her sudden embrace.

Damon forced a smile. "Hi, love."

Morrigan scrunched her face. "Do not act so casual. You are in pain," her hands slid down his arms, her eyes widening at the cane keeping him upright. She stabbed her eyes at Brady, "Inquisitor?"

Brady almost replied, until Damon grumbled, "You could ask me."

Morrigan clicked her tongue against her teeth, "I would much rather hear the truth to the lie you wish to tell."

I'm fine," he stressed. He glanced at Brady, "Tell her I'm fine."

"He's fine." Brady repeated.

Her eyes scoured Brady's face as her expression soured. Eleanor stepped in front of Cassandra and wrapped Brady into a hug that pushed a breath from his chest. She pulled away and cupped a careful hand on his cheek, examining the array of cuts on his face.

"My boy," she thumbed his cheek. "You look terrible."

"Mother," he wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her hand away from his cheek. "Grace- Grace is-"

She hushed him and smiled. "Calm yourself. We do not come without bearing gifts." She looked over her shoulder at the sound of heavy boots and heels pattering against the stone steps outside of the main door. Cullen and Leliana walked on either side of Grace, her eyes widening with a brightness at the sight of Brady.

Eleanor stepped aside and watched with a bright smile as Brady rushed to Grace and wrapped her into a tight embrace, taking her off her feet and crushing her against his chest.

He let out a small sob and pulled his face away to scan every detail of her face, his hands tight around her shoulders. He huffed a short breath with his mouth agape and stretched into a wide smile. His blue eyes beamed as they darted across her face- unharmed, alive. He kissed her forehead and pulled her against her chest again, resting his chin atop of her head.

He shut his eyes, "You're okay." He heavily sighed and repeated with a murmur, "You're okay."

"Brady," her voice was strained and hoarse. "You're… crushing… me."

He released his arms and flashed his eyes between Cullen and Leliana. Cullen grinned at his confusion and bowed his head. "She showed up at the garrison a couple nights ago," he cocked his head. "We tried to send word, but-"

"The courier dead on the King's road was to deliver the message," Leliana said. "No doubt Samson and Marjolaine intercepted the message and tried to use Grace's disappearance against you."

Brady brought his eyes to Grace, his face stern. "What were you thinking? You could've-" his voice lowered, "I thought he killed you. I thought you were dead."

"Well, I'm not," her brows pressed together. "Do not scold me like I am a child."

He blinked, then released the tightness in his face. He nodded, "I'm glad you're okay."

"I sent agents to Ostwick. They were to inquire on Grace's disappearance," Leliana walked to Brady's side. "They'll be tasked to protect your family."

"Thank you," he said, the sunlight from the open main doors shimmered across the softened edges of his face. Leliana grinned and nodded. He released Grace and addressed Cullen, "I owe you an ale."

Cullen cocked a brow and wrinkled his forehead, snapping his eyes to Grace. Brady narrowed his eyes and glanced down at Grace, a smile etched on her lips with her eyes on the commander. Cullen cleared his throat, "You'd do the same for me."

Grace patted Brady's chest and he doubled over with a grunt. Grace waltzed across the main hall and joined Eleanor. Leliana rested a hand on his shoulder and looped a finger around his collar. He turned his head to her and smirked at her enticing gaze travelling up and down his body.

She looped a finger around his collar and brushed her lips against his ear and spoke with a sensual, breathy whisper. "I expect my thanks will come later."

His chest rattled with a suggestive hum. She unhooked her finger from his collar with a coy grin. He watched her join the rest further into the main hall, her hips swaying with an intentional tease. He straightened and narrowed his eyes at the sound of Cullen's snort.

Brady pursed his lips to the side, "And what are you laughing at?"

"Oh, nothing," he shrugged and smirked. "Morrigan owes me five sovereigns."

Brady grinned with a shake of his head. Cullen walked further into the main hall and clapped his hand onto Brady's shoulder. Brady followed behind him to the others. He stood behind Leliana and ran his hand down her back.

Cassandra turned her head to Brady, "Leliana has informed us that you have captured Samson."

Brady dipped his head in confirmation. Damon snorted, "Almost took his head off, too."

"Understandable," Eleanor said evenly and twisted her head to Brady. He dropped his hand from Leliana's rear and looked into his mother's eyes. She raised her chin, "I would have gouged his eyes out. Bastard."

"I'd like to know why he would goad you like that," Cullen said. "To lie about killing your sister… surely he expected you to end him right there."

"He wouldn't be able to talk if he was killed," Eleanor suggested and darted her eyes to Leliana. "You interrogated him, correct?"

Leliana nodded. "He tried to do the same with me. Brought up Marjolaine, taunted me with the means to unleash Brady on him."

Eleanor narrowed her brows and dropped her eyes in thought. Anora entered the main hall and greeted the party, bowing before Cassandra and offering a more private area to speak. Cassandra, Leliana, and Eleanor followed Anora to her office on the right wing of the palace. Morrigan decided to look over Damon's wounds herself, much to his chagrin. But he allowed her to return him to the infirmary. Cullen dismissed himself to explore the palace, and offered Grace to join him if she wished. She told Cullen she would, after some time alone with her brother. He nodded, and bid Brady and Grace farewell.

Brady and Grace went to the garden and strolled down the maze of blooming red and yellow flowers towering on high trellises and green, maintained bushes. The afternoon sun warmed their skin and glistened on the petals and reflected off the polished stone walkway.

Grace rested her fingers underneath a red rose and stared into the swirled center. She shut her eyes and released the flower, "I'm sorry."

"You don't owe me an apology," Brady murmured.

Grace turned to him, "I should have stopped Father from sending you out. It would have saved you from… this mess you're in."

"They would have taken me eventually," Brady said. "They were in Ostwick. I have no doubt they would have stormed the estate and hurt all of you just to get to me."

She reached for his metallic hand and held it in her palm as her other hand traced the intricate pipes and metal tendons. She loosened a breath, "Cullen told me it was not as harsh as it appeared."

"The reactions have been… varied."

She released his hand. He made a fist and shoved it into his pocket. She raised her eyes into his- solemnness projecting from the light shades of icy blue. "Are you okay?"

He rumbled a chuckle, "Better now."

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and her eyes lightened, "Imagine my surprise when I saw Eleanor having tea with Divine Victoria."

"I couldn't believe it myself," he shook his head. "Like seeing a ghost."

"She has hardly changed. A bit of wrinkles… but almost just as I remembered her," she narrowed her eyes, "does father know?"

"No. And she doesn't want him too, either."

Grace frowned and glanced down the pathway with a breath.

"She had her reasons to keep it from us. I don't agree, but I understand."

Grace snapped her eyes to Brady, a frown still settled deep on her face. "Her death destroyed him. Destroyed you," her eyes narrowed. "Her reasons must be damn good." Brady swallowed and huffed a breath from his nose, bringing his eyes to his feet. Grace widened her eyes and lightened her voice, "But you know she's alive now. That, at least, is better than never seeing her again."

He nodded and started down the pathway. He stared straight and asked, "How did you get to the garrison?"

"It wasn't easy," she chuckled. "When you didn't come home that night, I assumed you stayed at an inn until you thought father had calmed down. I sent our guards to find you, but none of them came up with anything."

He pursed his lips to the side and sucked on his teeth. "You were worried."

She shoved his shoulder and furrowed her brows, "Of course I was. Even at your worst, I was able to find you somewhere in the city. And you promised me," she stressed, "You promised me you wouldn't leave. You're an ass, but I have never known for you to break a single promise to me."

"Took things into your own hands?"

"I spoke to the tavern owner, and he gave me the time you left and guessed you went home with some Orlesian woman. So, I asked the city guards that patrolled around that time and they told me that a few residents told them there was a commotion that arose, then fell into silence." She glanced at him, "I asked the residents. They said they heard the grating voice of an Orlesian woman."

"You did all of this in one day?"

She snickered, "Trevelyan determination doesn't only apply to you, brother."

He signaled her to continue.

She took a deep breath, "Orlesians in Ostwick is already rare enough. I went to the shipyard and demanded them to tell me if any ships from Orlais docked recently. Not a single one. But, there was a ship that left abruptly in the middle of the night. They said that an Orlesian woman paid them with a large sack of coin and sailed across the Waking Sea."

"Did you tell father?"

She shook her head, "I didn't even think to. I paid a merchant ship to take me to Ferelden," she ticked her tongue and snickered, "Admiral Isabela knew a great deal about you."

Brady choked on his breath and sputtered into a coughing fit. Grace waited and paused, crossing her arms. His brows twitched, "You sailed with Isabela?"

"She almost swindled me out of one hundred sovereigns just to cross the sea," she shrugged her shoulders. "That was until I asked her if she heard anything about the Inquisitor. I think once she took a second look at me she realized the resemblance," her voice swelled with pride, "Didn't ask me for a sovereign after. Said you two were even now for saving Hawke some years ago."

"That must've been something," Brady chuckled. "I can't imagine Isabela letting you alone."

"She didn't," Grace confirmed. "Kept me up all night drinking and playing Wicked Grace with her and her sailors."

They continued through the garden. Brady suggested to find a way to thank Isabela for her kindness, if he could ever pinpoint her in a single location.

"We sailed all night and docked in Highever by the morning. The whole place was buzzing with news of what you did. I managed to get some information out of the locals. They spoke of Lady Nightingale and seeing Commander Cullen make rounds around the area," she pursed her lips, "A pair of templars told me where Cullen was stationed, after I had to bat my eyelashes and play nice."

Brady snorted, "He must've loved hearing his men gave him up so quickly."

"I didn't tell him," she said evenly. "I went to the garrison. They were all gaping like fishes when I walked in. Eleanor pulled me in and demanded Cullen to get word to you. You had already left with Leliana for the city."

"And now you're here."

"And now I'm here," she cocked her head. "Next time, try to sneak a letter home. The whole ordeal was way too tiring."

He raised a brow, "And rob you of having a little bit of an adventure?"

"I'll leave the adventures to you for now."

They exited the garden and entered the training yard. Cullen paced around the sparring ring, his eyes glued to the two swordsmen dancing around each other with tight focus. He tore his eyes away and stopped mid step at the sight of Brady and Grace approaching. Grace quickened her pace and forced Brady into large strides to remain at her side.

Cullen bowed, "My lady."

Grace tipped her head forward with a grin, "Commander. I'd love for you to show me the grounds. However," Cullen straightened and rested his hand on the hilt of the blade at his side. "I've never seen Denerim outside of portraits sent to the estate. If we could expand our tour, I'd love to be shown the city from a Fereldan native."

"Of course, my lady," Cullen nodded. Brady huffed and crossed his arms. Cullen rose his hand to his lips and cleared his throat, "If that is okay with you, Brady."

Brady gave a side long look to Grace and unraveled his arms, "Be back before sundown."

"You sound like father," Grace snorted and rolled her eyes.

He ignored her and flicked his chin to Cullen, "Before sundown."

Cullen bobbed his head with a grin, "I heard you the first time."

Grace waltzed to Cullen's side and walked beside him through the training yard. Brady heard Cullen present the area as the training yard, to which Grace laughed and said, "You don't say?"

Brady watched them until they rounded the corner of the smith's workshop and their intertwined laughter faltered in the wind.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Happy New Year! Thank you for sticking with this story for a year now... your patience with me is very appreciated. I love where this one goes and I hope you continue to enjoy this tale into the New Year.**

 **Brady and I both wish this year brings everyone bliss and happiness. Once again, thank you for reading. :)**

 **\- TK**


	15. Romance and Rage

Brady whisked Leliana away after dinner and brought her to his quarters. He locked the door behind them and was met by an inquisitive brow perked high on Leliana's forehead with her arms crossed over her chest, "My room is much nicer."

"Your room is too close to everyone else."

A hum purred against her lips, "I suppose a night of ravishing is how you wish to repay me."

"No, well," he ran his hand through his hair, "Is that what you want? I mean, I had something else in mind."

She tipped her head and unraveled her arms, stepping towards him with a slight sway in her hips, "Oh?"

His eyes cascaded up and down her body, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as she drew close enough to catch the candied scent of her steady breaths. He placed his hands on her hips and pressed a kiss on her forehead and muttered, "Get undressed."

She ran a single finger across his chest and down his chiseled torso, "You first."

He chuckled and glanced at the washroom on his right, "I had a hot bath drawn for you. Scented candles, soaps, bubbles… the works."

She glimpsed at the washroom, then returned her eyes to him with a smirk, "Is the basin big enough for two?"

He shrugged and led her by her hand to the washroom, "I'm sure we'll make it work."

"Or flood the palace in the process."

They stripped down and slipped into the tub. Leliana leaned her head back against Brady's bare chest, his arms braced against the lip of the tub. He rested his forehead against the back of her head, periodically planting quick kisses against the nape of her neck and shoulders. He murmured to lean forward in her ear, and she complied. His hands kneaded down her back, his thumbs circling up and down the column of her spine.

"I was not expecting this," she murmured, her body growing limp at the pattern of his calloused hands caressing every muscle from her shoulders to her waist.

He dragged his lips over her shoulder and pressed his thumbs deep into her back, "I'm full of surprises."

"I know," she breathed, a low moan passing her lips as his hands reached over to her thighs and skimmed up the side of her body, his fingers rippling through the water that rose just above her naval. She leaned her cheek toward her shoulder, her hair falling from her head to her shoulder blade. Brady whisked her hair to her other shoulder and splayed his fingers up and down her arms.

Brady pressed his chest against her back and rested his forehead against her shoulder blade, "What are you thinking about?"

She sighed, "How perfect this is. No distractions… just you and me."

He snickered, releasing a warm breath that grazed her damp skin. "A part of me feels we are to get a gracious knock at the door. My coin is on Cullen."

She huffed a small laugh, "I believe he is distracted by a different Trevelyan."

He craned his head and met her eyes looking to him over her shoulder. He twitched his brows together, "You don't think-"

"The commander is many things," she lilted. "But subtlety has always been lost on him."

"He wouldn't," Brady contested, pouting his lower lip and returning his arms to the sides of the basin.

Leliana spun around, a wave of water thrashing over the lip of the basin. She wrapped her legs around Brady's waist and rested her forearms on his shoulders. He looked at her, his brows still tight with the thought.

"You're right," Leliana replied. "He wouldn't. Not without your blessing."

"Mira would—"

"From my experience," she ran her hands down his muscled chest, her eyes on the faint, white splotches of scarred skin and the shimmering ring dangling in the middle of his chest. "You Trevelyans are a self-sacrificing lot."

Ripples of wrinkles appeared above his arching brows. "Oh?"

"Your father chose duty over love. Your mother never returned after Ostagar because she believed she could make the world a better place for you and the man she loved," Brady's eyes fell to his flexing fingers. Leliana continued, "Lady Mira raised you as one of her own. You believe it was to avoid political backlash," she rose a delicate brow, "But Banns have bastards all the time. History is filled with the love children of nobles," she laughed, "we currently rest in the palace of King Maric's illegitimate heir."

He returned her eyes to her.

"She raised you- despite being the constant reminder of her husband's affair- because she knew you came from the woman he truly loved. Because her daughter adored you."

"'A bastard does not ask to be born,'" he said in a high pitch, highborn accent. "She used to say that under her breath whenever I started acting up."

"But you," she dug her finger into the center of chest. "You are perhaps the worst of them all."

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and smirked, "Taught by my elders."

She rocked her hips forward and slid up his thighs, her skin pressing up against his tight, defined stomach. He released her hand and rested his fingers at her waist. Her brows pursed together with a stern gaze stabbed into his eyes. She flicked a finger beneath his chin and attracted his softened gaze.

Her lips tightened, "Let me make this clear. Very clear."

His eyes flashed across her stern expression and answered with a slight nod.

"I love you," her hands cupped underneath his jawline, her thumb slowly running across his cheek. "You will never have to sacrifice anything for me." the tension in her face subsided. "This world, who we are… it will always take, no matter how much we are willing to give," a frown pulled at the corner of her lips as her head tilted. "But it will not take you from me. Not again."

He pressed his lips against hers, his hands cascading up the arch of her back and tightening at the center of her body. He settled his head into the crook of her neck and murmured against her shoulder, "As you wish."

"So, it is how I wish tonight, hmm?" she snickered. She guided his face to hers and ran her thumb against his cheek. "I wish for you to show me how much you missed me."

With a sly grin, he obeyed. The water thrashed onto the washroom floor as he wrapped her tight in his arms and swirled around, gently resting her against the back curve of the basin, her neck propped on the cool lip with her thighs locked around his stomach.

She hooked her finger around his silver chain and eyed the ring that slid toward her finger. Her eyes flickered into his, encouraging him closer with a tug on the chain.

They hardly noticed the bath chill. Nor the high, rippled waves of water forged by their bodies overwhelming the basin and spilling onto the floor.

* * *

As Leliana slept beside him, Brady pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder and slipped out of bed. She stirred, but remained asleep, clutching to a pillow and releasing a long exhale. Brady dressed, shuffling on a light navy jacket and grabbed Ole' Bastard in its scabbard, securing it across his back with a taut leather belt that looped around his shoulder and stretched across his torso. He took cautious steps to the door and escaped from his bedroom. His eyes scanned every corridor and guard post while he waded through the palace halls.

He found the dungeon entrance and crept through the heavy door and down the narrow flight of stairs. The path was dim with firelight, most of the braziers down the path extinguished and shadowing the dungeon with darkness. The lit flames reflected on pooling puddles that echoed with a slow drip from the ceiling.

He peered through the small latch of the chamber door and saw Samson seated in the center of the room. With a deep breath, he entered and walked toward Samson with swift strides.

Samson rose his head and cracked a wide smile. "Finally."

Brady drug a rickety wooden chair across the room and placed it in front of Samson. Samson tipped his head and let out a small laugh. Brady sat and stared Samson down, his face void and tight. He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small silver flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a quick swig. His sleeve swiped across his lips and his eyes casted down to his shaking knees.

"A shot for your sister?" Samson said. "Perhaps I could have one, too. In her honor."

A harsh laugh left Brady's lips. His eyes rose to Samson and he drew his blade from his back and poked the tip against Samson's breastplate. "Let's play a game."

"Now we're talking."

Brady leaned forward and slid the tip of his blade to Samson's stomach. "I ask, you answer. If I don't like your answer," Brady's mouth stretched into a smirk, "I'll keep that part a surprise."

Samson rose his chin. "Ask away."

"Are you afraid?"

"No."

Brady's chair crashed to the stone floor as Brady shot to his feet and stabbed the tip of his blade through Samson's boot. Samson seethed as Brady twisted the blade. Brady brought his face inches from Samson and snarled, "How about now?"

Samson begged for him to stop. Brady twisted the blade with a quick snap of his wrists and pulled it from Samson's foot. He flicked the flat of his blade onto his shoulder and paced in front of Samson.

"Why lie about my sister?" Brady turned to him and caught Samson's blighted eyes widen.

Samson clenched his jaw and turned his head away from Brady. "Does anyone know you are here?"

Brady stood in front of him. "You wanted me to kill you in that cellar. Why?"

"To avoid this kind of bullshit."

Brady brought the heavy hilt of his sword down on Samson's bound hand. Samson bellowed a howl and splayed his trembling fingers. "The real reason?"

Samson stared at Brady, agony flaring behind his eyes. Samson gritted his teeth, "Have you ever killed a man out of pure spite? Not for the Inquisition, or for the good of the world… but because you wanted to?"

Brady clenched his jaw and lowered his blade.

"I didn't think so." Samson curled his lip, "It would have ruined you." He snorted, "It seems that it has."

"You don't know me."

"I've known men like you. Those who stand on the world's shoulders eventually suffer from a never-ending fall."

"I'll take the three of you down with me."

Samson laughed. "Then let the rest fall beside us."

"Where are Florianne and Calpernia?"

Samson shrugged. "Maker only knows. They left me in Denerim to stop that pretty little songbird of yours from getting too close."

"And Marjolaine?"

Samson chuckled, "She just wants her dead."

"You gave her information."

Samson cracked a serpentine smile, "A favor. To make it much easier." A blaze seared Brady's face and engulfed his body with a stomach churning tremble. Samson's eyes lit, a vibrant crimson gleam emerging within his eyes and illuminating the sinister smile that grew wider as they stayed on Brady. Samson's eyes glinted, "Tell me, have you left her alone just to play this game with me?"

Brady dropped his blade to the floor and rushed to Samson's seat. He clutched the bottom of his breastplate and pulled him forward. Samson remained amused, breathing a dark laugh as Brady bared his teeth and hissed, "If any harm comes to her—"

Samson's head rolled back as he barked a laugh. Brady shook Samson until his crimson eyes stabbed into directly back into his. Brady stared back, unblinking, while Samson ceased to laugh and stoned his expression. Samson leaned his head forward and murmured, "It's only a matter of time until Marjolaine stains your bedsheets with lovely Leliana's blood. Unless—"

"Dammit, Samson," Brady seethed. "Where can I find her?"

Samson flicked his chin. "Release me, I'll tell you everything."

Brady's hands slipped from Samson's breastplate and a short, labored breath escaped from his chest. Samson waited, his eyes still trained onto Brady's every move. Brady rubbed his hand across the nape of his neck and steadied his breath. He lowered his eyes to Samson, "You know I won't do that."

"Then please, let me be the first to know when Marjolaine shows up. I could use the entertainment down here."

"Enough."

"All those answers you're looking for… I can give them to you. Just cut my bindings. I'll handle the rest."

"You'll rot in prison."

"Yes," Samson lilted, "And while you cradle Leliana's corpse, let the guilt rot you."

Brady's nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw and snapped his head over his shoulder. He picked his sword up from the floor and pressed the tip of the blade against Samson's pulsing neck. Samson's eyes glimmered as he grinned, flickering his gaze from the reflecting Silverite and the darkness that consumed Brady's eyes.

"If you won't tell me what I need to know, you have no purpose to me."

Samson raised his chin and stretched his neck far from the blade, "What's stopping you?"

Brady gripped the hilt of his blade with both hands and drew the blade back with a twist of his hips, raising the elongated blade above his shoulder for a clean slash through Samson's neck.

The heavy door swung open and crashed against the stone as quick steps approached from behind. Brady twisted around and lowered his blade.

"Brady Maxwell Trevelyan," Eleanor scolded. "Enough." The tip of Brady's blade clinked against the stone floor as he deflated. Eleanor snatched Brady by the collar and drug him out of the room, stabbing her eyes at the smirking Samson as she slammed the door shut.

Brady stared expressionless at his feet. Eleanor fixed her robes in a huff, "I knew I should have stopped you earlier. That spark of Trevelyan temper can catch eyes in Orlais."

Brady snapped his eyes into Eleanor's. "Leliana is in danger, Marjolaine—"

"Has been after Leliana for years, Brady." Her brows knitted together. "What makes you think she'll have any luck now?"

He stabbed a pointed finger toward the door. "He gave her information."

Eleanor's face softened. She placed her hands atop of Brady's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Brady, darling, look at me. Listen. Hey, look at me." She placed a hand on his cheek and slunk her shoulders. "Marjolaine is the least of our problems."

His lips parted, but a sharp warning in Eleanor's eyes caught his tongue.

"You are no fool. Can't you see what he's doing?"

His eyes twitched toward the door.

"He is using her to get under your skin, to get the exact reaction out of you that he wanted." Eleanor tipped her head, "If you had killed him, a defenseless captive, these people would have put you in chains."

Brady dropped his head and nodded, staring down at his feet.

"Do you understand?" Eleanor continued. "The investigation would be over. You would be in prison while Florianne and Calpernia continued to do whatever they wished with that dagger." Her eyes drooped, a small frown pulled at her lips. She pulled him in for a hug. His forehead fell onto her shoulder as she muttered words of comfort with her embrace tightening with every word.

She pulled away from his chest and flicked her chin toward the staircase, "Come on," she tapped her hand against his arm, "It seems the perfect time to see if the palace swill is as good as King Alistair claims."

They went to the kitchen and lifted two bottles of whiskey from the storage room. Eleanor popped the top of both bottles and carried them into the vacant dining hall. They sat across from each other and spent a few moments in silence, sipping and slowly sinking deeper into their seats.

Brady plopped against the back of his chair and fiddled the bottle cap between his fingers. He raised his eyes to find Eleanor raising her bottle into the air and guzzling the alcohol straight down her throat. Brady's eyes flickered across the table and fell back to his fiddling fingers, each glance waning attempts to speak. She wiped her lips with the flat of her hand and invited conversation with a curling of her fingers.

"Go ahead," she said. "I can tell you are dying to say it."

He drummed his metallic fingers against the wooden table and took a quick swig from his bottle. He smacked the bottom of the bottle against the table, "'The Grey Wolf of Ghislain.' Infamous spy for the Orlesian Empire," he leaned forward and scoped his hand. "Also known as 'mother.'"

Eleanor nodded. Brady blew a long breath from his nose and pursed his lips to the side. Eleanor placed her forearms on the table and folded her hands. She bowed her head, "I wish you found out from me. But it's better that you know, regardless."

"Was it worth it?"

Eleanor swallowed and toyed with the emerald ring on her finger. "I don't regret my choices. But I know their weight— what it did to you, your father— an apology will never be enough."

"You're here now," his eyes focused on the cap on the table. "That's all that matters."

"Grace turned a shade of white when she caught me with a cup of tea. I'm surprised how quickly she warmed up to the dead being alive again."

Brady snickered. "Well, she did share a ship with Isabela. I doubt much can surprise her after that."

"I just thought Divine Victoria's presence stole the spotlight from me." Eleanor rose her brows. "Or the dashing commander did."

"I would have placed my coin on Morrigan," Brady glanced at her with a grin. "Damon is in for it when she finds out that he is the Hero of Ferelden."

"She'll corner Leliana first," Eleanor smirked with a wink. She lifted her bottle and pointed it towards Brady, "After the betting pool that appeared right after you two departed…" she took a quick drink and grumbled, "You are your father's son."

"I love her."

"I know," Eleanor sighed. "I knew that first night in the garrison. The way she looked at you," she shook her head. "Too familiar a stare… like looking into a damn mirror," she pressed her bottle to her lips and swallowed a mouthful of liquor and placed it onto the table. "Andraste help you both. Maker knows you'll need it."

They stayed up and finished their bottles while trading stories. Eleanor reluctantly disclosed some of her most interesting missions for the Empress in exchange to finally hear Brady's fondest memories of the Inquisition. Eleanor hung on every word, soaking in the bliss and solemnness that bled from Brady's reminiscing.

For every laugh, there was a moment of reflection that stopped his tales. Precious pictures flashed through his mind, images of friends he had failed to see for too long. Eleanor recognized and understood the struggle that emerged on Brady's face. Even the most coveted memories create a pang of pain that pricks at the heart's most protected places. In between each story, he realized the reason he refused to remember and retell. His memories were the remnants of moments that will never be relived and revisiting each memory was just simple, cruel reminders.

The pink light of dawn shimmered through the tall glass windows of the dining hall. They were amused by the passing of time, blaming their drunkenness for their complete ignorance of the feigning night. Servants were surprised by their presence but were quick to ask if more drink was necessary. It took a moment of thought to agree they had enough.

Brady decided the final moments before the day was to begin were best to be spent chasing a few hours of rest. He slipped into his bedroom and skulked to the bed. Leliana was fast asleep, small snores whistled with each breath, her lips shaped with a pouty, soft smile. He slid beneath the blankets and cautiously cuddled closer. Leliana pressed her back against his chest and curled into the warmth that radiated from his body.

His fingers traced up and down her arm, the scent of her skin bringing him to relax beside her. He shuffled onto the headboard and watched her rhythmic breaths raise and lower her chest.

He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head and uttered, "I lied to you earlier." He pulled away and watched his fingers trace up and down her arm. "I'd sacrifice everything for you. Not even thinking twice," he raised his brows and pursed his lips, "Because I love you," he turned to her, "You know that, right?"

A low snore escaped in a puff from her nose.

"Just wanted to make sure," he chuckled. His head swiveled forward, "You before me. Always. If it ever comes to—" he sighed— "Everything I do… will always be for you."


	16. Honest Tea and Grey Warden Leads

After many unsuccessful attempts to wake Brady, Leliana set out on her own to enjoy a cup of morning tea. She greeted each guard with a chipper smile, her casual demeanor offsetting the curious gazes she received leaving Brady's quarters. She could not blame them for the confusion that left them murmuring to one another and felt no negative afflictions from the roused gossip she became the subject of. Moments spent with Brady were too cherished to avoid for the sake of secrecy.

Tea had already been served by the time Leliana entered the conservatory. A few pastries were left around the seating area primed to be picked at by any passersby. Eleanor and Grace sat together, looking out to the garden in silence. They invited Leliana to join them with grins too polite to be innocent.

Leliana joined them, regardless of their intentions, and contributed to their shallow conversation about the condition of the garden. Grace found it wonderous, taken by the foreign flowers that were not present in Ostwick. Eleanor determined the palace garden to be admirable but lacked the artistic and careful precision she enjoyed about the Empress' personal garden.

Grace directed her complete attention to Leliana, leaning forward on the table with a small smile. "Did the Inquisition stronghold have a garden?"

Leliana nodded and placed her tea cup atop of a decorated saucer. "Your brother was very adamant about its upkeep. I'm starting to understand why."

Grace laughed, "My mother's influence. Father once wished to add an entire wing to the Estate, but once mother found out it would shrink the size of her garden, she made him reconsider."

"Mira used to keep a healthy amount of Embrium in that garden of hers," Eleanor said, rolling her eyes and raising her cup from its saucer. "I'm sure she was unaware of how allergic I am of it."

"She keeps them around the house, all crushed in crystal dishes," Grace said. "Brady used to get such a terrible cough in the spring. They helped with his breathing. Almost sure he grew out of it, though."

Leliana pinched her brows together. "Do you know if he is allergic to this small, white wildflower called Andraste's Grace?"

Grace shook her head, "Those are native to Ferelden, near impossible to get in Ostwick. Why do you ask?"

Leliana tried to suppress a smile, dismissing her curiosity with a wave of her hand. Grace persisted, her bright smile leading Leliana to answer. "He had them delivered in droves and kept a collection of them beside his bed and on the war table. Anytime too strong of a breeze entered his quarters he would enter a fit of sneezing."

"Where is that boy?" Eleanor asked.

"Sound asleep, I'm afraid," Leliana replied.

Eleanor straightened in her seat and rolled up the sleeves of her robe, "Good. Maker knows he needs it."

Grace perked up, "Commander Cullen has been gracious enough to tell me of my brother's work during the inquisition. However, his tales always have to do with incidents in the sparring ring."

"We didn't have the luxury of joining him in the field," Leliana explained and loosed a laugh, "And I have a feeling Cullen was not too eager to share stories that happened in Skyhold's tavern."

"He speaks of Brady like they shared a womb."

"I assure you, they did not," Eleanor snickered. "Cullen is a fine man, however. I wish I could take credit for his manners." Eleanor shrugged, "I suppose I can settle for the Herald of Andraste as a son, however."

Grace pushed a displaced blonde hair behind her ear. "He seems so much happier. When he came home—" Grace exhaled and rubbed the nape of her neck— "I was expecting that, you know? In my head, I saw him return home with that light everyone spoke of. Instead," Grace's eyes fell to her tea cup, "I barely recognized him."

Leliana stiffened, clutching onto a breath that pricked against her chest.

"You mustn't blame him for that, love," Eleanor said, placing a gentle hand on top of Grace's wrist. "I'm sure he fared better than most after everything he went through."

"You don't understand," Grace glanced into Eleanor's waiting eyes. "I was there when he found out you were not returning home. He changed after that. Father changed," Grace's eyes hardened. "Everything changed."

Eleanor's hand slipped away from Grace's wrist, and she folded her hands together on top of the table, her body slacking its weight onto her forearms.

"I've heard your reasons for what you did, Eleanor. I suppose if he accepts it, then I must find it in me to forgive you."

"I have no expectations of forgiveness, from either of you. But, I am here now. Here for him. Here for you."

A small smile accompanied a quick exhale from Grace. She turned towards Leliana, "I know of nothing that happened between you two. Maker knows he didn't speak of it to me. But when he returned home, it was like he lost her all over again."

Leliana swallowed and watched her fingers toy with her tea cup. "It was not easy for me, either. I cannot speak for him, but I know that the pain that came with his leave is not easy to forget."

"He drank himself to sleep," Grace let out a sardonic laugh. "He drank himself awake. His distractions came and went with each bottle. Every damn night, I had to find him before the city guard did. He would apologize to me, like it was his fault," Grace sniffed and took a deep breath with a shake of her head. "I never blamed him. I couldn't. The more I found out, the more I saw how cruel the world truly was."

"You've seen him now. He is okay," Eleanor said.

Grace nodded, swallowing a swelling sob that grew in her throat. "I know. I pray to the Maker he stays that way."

Eleanor tapped her fingernail against the edge of her saucer and sighed, "He has his demons. Maker knows we all do," she looked to Leliana and Grace. "When they appear, do not fault him for it. Beat them down and scare them away if you must, but do not let them meddle with the man you know him as."

They took a sip of tea and fell into silence. Servants came in and refreshed their glasses before scurrying away from the profound silence that befell that entire conservatory, the buzz of bees and lazy bird songs creating the music of the morning.

Cullen entered the conservatory in casual Ferelden wear, grasping Grace's amused attention. Cullen pointed a smile toward her that faded with a cough once he found Leliana and Eleanor's eyes upon him.

Leliana tipped her head and glanced up at Cullen. "Good morning, Commander. Word for me?"

"No," he rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on the table.

"Oh, then it must be for me," Eleanor said. "Speak, then. Does the King's advisor wish of me?"

"I don't know," Cullen said and sighed. "I had hoped— I didn't mean to raise any expectations, ladies."

"Did you come to join us for tea?" Leliana asked with a smirk.

"No, I was told that Lady Trevelyan," he brought his eyes to Grace. She draped her arm on the back of her chair with her chin craned. Cullen cleared his throat, "That you were here."

"I am," Grace gestured her hands across her seat. "May I help you?"

Cullen glanced at Leliana and Eleanor, "No. No need for assistance. I was hoping—"

"Come walk with me through the garden, commander," Grace stood up and took his arm, "I'd love to hear all of your hopes there."

Cullen beamed a smile with a growth of color on his cheeks. He bid farewell to Leliana and Eleanor and allowed Grace to lead him out to the garden. Leliana and Eleanor twisted in their chairs to watch them exit and disappear into the garden.

"Good for her," Eleanor said, turning back to the table. "Always knew it would take a special type to get her to settle down."

"Funny," Leliana said. "I thought the same of the commander."

"Maker save anyone with Trevelyan blood in them. They surely are of a different breed." Eleanor said and took a sip of tea. "Do you know what you are getting yourself into, dear?"

"It is an adventure every day." Leliana cocked a brow, "Are you going to attempt to discourage me?"

"No," Eleanor chuckled. "I may not like it, but I get the feeling you both are much more intelligent than Silas and I."

"You still love him."

"I'm afraid I always will." Eleanor leaned her cheek against her propped-up palm with a small smile. "That's the thing about love, isn't it? As much as you want it to, it never really goes away."

"Have you ever thought about—"

"Not once. Silas has always been better off without me," Eleanor straightened in her seat. "They both were."

"You cannot truly believe that, do you?"

"Believe it? Darling, I know it. It took awhile to come to terms with it, but the truth is always easier to accept after a time."

Leliana swallowed, moving her saucer away to lean her elbows against the table. "He spoke of you. Very often." Eleanor's eyes widened as Leliana's head fell. "He loved you—" she raised her eyes to Eleanor— "loves you so much. He used to speak of you like you were Maker-sent." Leliana let out a solemn laugh, "I know you think Mira was better at raising him, but a child just needs their mother."

Eleanor's eyes dropped to her lap. She sighed, "You two shared that... hurt."

"But I knew you were alive," Leliana stressed. "I could have saved him from that constant hurt, that grief."

Eleanor reached for Leliana's hand and gave it a light squeeze, "You were doing your job."

"Right," Leliana scoffed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. "My job." She stared into Eleanor's light blue eyes and narrowed her eyes, "Where does the job end and we begin?"

Eleanor ran her thumb across the top of Leliana's hand and considered Leliana's question. "I don't know," she replied. "I don't think I have that distinction anymore. I lost it right when I decided to never return to Ostwick."

"Everything can't be secrets and missions for the rest of my life," Leliana said. "There needs to be more... something more."

Eleanor leaned forward, "What do you mean?"

"I think," Leliana took in a breath and let out a slow exhale. She looked to Eleanor, "He's my something more. If only we could both stop solving one problem after another... maybe there's peace for us at the end of this. Happiness."

Eleanor squeezed Leliana's hand again, "Then find it. Who we are, what we do... there's no happy ending. You have to leave this life at the first opportunity. Grab it and never look back."

* * *

The slamming of drawers and clothing piling on top of Brady drew a groan from his chest. His eyes, still half drawn from exhaustion, watched Damon toss Ole' Bastard on top of the bed and flick a scabbard over his shoulder that landed on the other side of the mattress. Brady pushed himself onto the headboard and blinked until his eyes adjusted to the sun-lit bedroom.

Damon turned his head to Brady. "Good. You're up. Get dressed, we're late."

Brady stretched his arms straight over his head and spoke through a yawn, "For what?"

Damon reached into his standard-issue Grey Warden jacket and drew a folded piece of parchment from the inside pocket. His wrist flicked the folded parchment like a disc and send it onto Brady's lap. Brady unfolded the parchment and looked at it sideways. The writing on the parchment was even handed, professional; the entirety of the letter was composed in native Fereldan. Beside the scribbled signature was the stamped seal of the Grey Wardens. Brady scanned his eyes across the lines and looked up from the letter to Damon. "You enlisted the Order for reconnaissance?"

Damon placed a smirk on his face. "Nightingale isn't the only one with eyes everywhere."

Brady read the letter with a slight strain in his eyes. Grey Warden scouts had fanned out across Ferelden on Warden-Commander Cousland's order. Those who travelled to all the way down to the Kocari Wilds would leave a scorched trail back to Amaranthine once they found out that their brethren found what Damon wanted only a few hours away from Denerim. The scouts found an abandoned warehouse that sat proud and alone in the middle of a thick stretch of tangled wilderness. Whether the prestigious warden scouts set up camp to watch the anomaly for activity or to indulge themselves with conscription ale was irrelevant. In the night, they watched sporadic arrivals and departures from the warehouse and a light show luminescent in the busted windows. The letter noted the smell of a storm flagrant in the surrounding air and that they would remain on sight until further orders came.

Brady slung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a moment to collect himself. "Have you told Leliana?" he asked, grabbing a beige cotton shirt from the pile of clothes Damon established on the bedspread.

"Can't. Warden business. You understand," said Damon. He ticked his chin and told Brady to hurry up. Brady plunged the shirt on and stepped into a pair of washed out blue trousers. Damon caught Brady reaching for his gauntlets and said, "No armor. It'll alert a blind lookout."

Brady stood and fastened the scabbard diagonally across his torso and slid Ole' bastard into the sheathe. "And the weapons won't?"

"This is Ferelden," Damon said as though that was enough of an answer to satisfy Brady.

Brady threaded a chestnut leather belt through the beltloops of his trousers and pulled it tight around his waist, fiddling with the buckle. "I still think we should tell the others."

Damon smacked a drawer closed and faced Brady, his grey eyes hard beneath his thick, dark brows. "While you were drooling like a second son, I ate breakfast with Alistair during his daily debriefings. I almost spit tea all over my breakfast when Teagan more than happily disclosed an update on our favorite prisoner—" Damon waved his hands in front of him— "Now I don't blame you for roughing up that bastard. But that's a huge 'no-no' around here. They save that shit for Drakon's peak. But in the palace basement? They'll reprimand you for getting blood on the polished tiles and kick your sorry ass out of the city." Brady only responded with a nod. Damon relaxed his shoulders and let out a breath. "Nice to know we're on the same page."

Brady jotted something down on the nightstand before Damon rushed Brady out of the bedroom. They took an alternate route through the guest wing, greeting the ignorant palace guards with genteel grins and waves, answering their greetings on the move. The side exit led to a large stone wall with vines consuming the masonry. Damon told Brady to put that hand to use and they scaled the wall, dropping down to a modest side street where city folk were too preoccupied with trade and breakfast to notice the two men fall onto the bed of an old, abandoned cart.

They turned the corner and saw Morrigan running her fingers through a black mare's deep purple tinted mane. Her radiant yellow eyes widened at the sight of their arrival. "'Tis about time," she said with a dismissive smirk.

Damon sensed Brady's eyes on him and shrugged. "Thought we may need a mage."

"Right," Brady drawled, approaching Morrigan and the three readied mares tied to a rickety wooden post, recognizing his favorite mount, Princess, standing proud in the middle and basking in the morning breeze. He hopped into Princess' saddle as Damon untied the reigns from the post. Morrigan mounted the midnight colored mare and watched Damon thrust himself up onto his chestnut-haired mare. Brady secured the reigns in his hands. "I have four women and a Cullen to explain this to when this is all over. When they start blaming me, I'm blaming you."

Damon stifled a chuckle, toying with the reigns wound around his fingers. Morrigan chimed in with a laugh, "Please, Inquisitor. When you do inform our dear Leliana you spent the day with me, be sure I am present," a serpentine smile stretched itself across her plum-colored lips, "'Tis always a pleasure to awaken that suppressed gall hidden beneath all her shadows." Brady snapped his head to Morrigan and warned her through a hardened expression. She huffed another laugh and turned away, "A simple jest. 'Twill not be the only one however, I gift you the warning now."

Damon flicked his wrings and led them to the south exit. Once they passed the city gates, Morrigan and Damon bickered between Brady on which direction is the fastest route. Brady stared ahead, swallowing the urge to order them to shut up. Brady grimaced. This was to be a long trip.

* * *

Anora mulled over decrypted letters from her agents tracking the whereabouts of the Dark Wolf. It had become two days too long and the fear of the trail going cold pegged itself into Anora's mind. Leliana shared her concern and coordinated her agents to search every crevice of the country for Marjolaine. Noble estates, brothels, taverns: anywhere she could slither her way into. Leave no stone unturned, Leliana noted in her orders.

Leliana's intimate knowledge of Marjolaine grew obsolete with time. Marjolaine was a snake that molted her skin too often for Leliana to consider time anything but an enemy. Leliana and Anora appreciated the allied intelligence; the Fereldan agents and Nightingale's collection of loyal eyes became two grappling hands desperate to clutch onto a ghost.

Rereading leads and reports ate the entire afternoon. Once fresh stacks of correspondences appeared on Anora's desk in the morning, they would repeat the process, though each repetition grew futile in their eyes.

Anora sipped on the glass of wine Leliana handed to her. "If only that bastard in the basement talked," Anora placed her glass on top of a stack of parchment wrapped in brown leather. "All we've gotten out of him is taunts."

"He only wishes death was still an option," Leliana said. "Now, he'll endure anything we throw at him."

"We haven't tried to bargain with him," Anora leaned back in her desk chair and folded her hands on her lap. "Loyalty will only go so far if the possibility of freedom is there."

"It's not possible," Leliana shook her head. "This issue is not solely a Ferelden problem. The Chantry, the Inquisition—"

"The Inquisition is a disbanded organization," Anora's eyes widened as Leliana turned toward her. "But I understand your meaning."

"There is no trace on either Calpernia or Florianne. They're good at this," Leliana stood in front of Anora's desk. "Only slighter better than Marjolaine. We have to focus on her trail."

"We have. Without results," Anora said, peering up at Leliana. "It may be time to work with we have," she reached for her glass and chuckled, "Orlesian tactics are such a winding road. We Fereldans probably seem too… upfront… for you."

"It's still a chantry investigation. You won't be able to claim sovereignty without Cassandra's consent."

"I have no intentions to campaign for sovereignty," Anora said, her voice sincere enough to relax Leliana's tense shoulders. "We still will fare better with a joint operation. But maybe the chantry will consider allowing Samson to be left to Ferelden judgement."

Leliana raised her chin and stared at the portraits of former kings behind Anora's desk. She raised her glass to her lips and let the crimson wine slide down her throat. "Letting him loose," Leliana murmured and shook her head. "I can't condone that."

"Then maybe not a promise of freedom," Anora said. "Maybe exile or monitored labor on the fields. Either way, he doesn't look like he has much time left. He's succumbing to his red lyrium consumption already. Maker knows if he would even make it a year."

"A monster like him can do much damage in the span of a year."

"Any ill would lead to someone striking him down. Consider it, at least."

A knock shook the heavy wooden door. Anora beckoned the visitor to enter. Teagan stormed into the room, his cheeks crimson and a sneer cemented on his mouth. He snapped his eyes onto Leliana, "Where is Trevelyan?"

Leliana crossed her arms and tipped her head. "Which one?"

"You know who I mean," Teagan fumed, his nose wrinkling. "He is nowhere to be found in the city and must answer for his inappropriate conduct." Anora insisted that Teagan calm down. He switched his gaze to her, "Absolutely not. That menace went down to the dungeons last night and attacked the prisoner. The healers found him with every bone in his hand crushed and blood pooling in his boot."

Leliana held her breath and unfolded her arms. She neutralized her face, suppressing any indication of surprise. Instead, she averted her eyes and rubbed nape of her neck. "With all due respect Arl Teagan, that would be impossible."

Teagan twisted his body to her and curled his upper lip. "Impossible?" He thrusted a pointed finger toward Leliana, "You have no idea what men like him are capable of."

Leliana frowned and narrowed her eyes. "And what kind of man is he? Your dislike for him makes you unable to think rationally. You want it to be him, to prove your prejudices."

A sharp inhale flared Teagan's nostrils. "He is the sole reason we are in this situation. We are lucky the prisoner still breathes."

Anora lifted her eyes to Teagan. "Do you have proof to support this accusation against Lord Trevelyan?"

"The prisoner said it was him," Teagan replied. "Said he showed up in the middle of the night and came near to killing him."

"And you believe the prisoner?" Anora inquired. "We know he has lied before. What makes this time different?"

Teagan paused, his eyes darting between Anora and Leliana. A slow breath raised his chest and blew out of his nose. "It had to be him."

"As I said," Leliana said. "It is impossible."

Teagan narrowed his eyes at her. "How can you be so sure?"

Leliana swung her hair over her shoulder, "Because we spent the entire night together."

Teagan's eyes widened as his throat bobbed. His stare remained on Leliana, her expression allowing for his blushing interpretation of her reply to evaporate the certainty in his accusation. He shrunk back and excused himself from the office, going off to find a suitable explanation for the King. Leliana waited until Teagan was out of earshot and addressed Anora's curious gaze. Leliana raised her eyes to the ceiling and released a long exhale.

"He did it," Anora murmured. Leliana shut her eyes and nodded. Anora sighed, "Do you know where he is?" Leliana took a seat in front of Anora and shook her head. A sullen smile stretched across Anora's mouth as she reached for Leliana's hand and gave it a small squeeze. "I'll open another bottle of wine. But when he gets back, don't hesitate to break it over his head."

Leliana laughed and watched Anora reach into her desk and pull out another bottle of wine. She popped the cork and refreshed their glasses. Without a word, the women clinked their glasses and drank until they reached the bottom of the bottle.


	17. Niceness before Knives

By dusk, Leliana found herself in Brady's empty quarters, scoffing at the sloppy addendum in Brady's hand scrawled at the bottom of a griffon-stamped letter. Brady wrote that his location was disclosed in the writing above, followed by a pitiful apology that begged for her forgiveness. Their pursuit of Marjolaine prompted her to advise Cassandra to strike a deal with Samson. The possibility of Damon and Morrigan finding the dagger was likely enough; their recruitment of Brady almost made it certain.

Cassandra disputed the suggestion until Leliana read her the letter addressed to Damon. "The dagger must be returned to the Chantry," Cassandra said to Leliana that evening. "Do what must be done."

Anora, pleased with the compromise, went straight to the Palace dungeon with Leliana. As Anora went for the door to Samson's cell, Leliana stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Let me talk to him alone."

Anora turned around and crossed her arms over her chest. She asked if Leliana was sure she could secure such a sensitive deal.

"I would not ask of this if I was not certain I could handle it," Leliana said. "I do have a request, however. The deal I wish to make; it is not what we spoke of."

Anora led Leliana away from the door and asked for an explanation. Leliana recalled an old conversation in the War Room before the Inquisition's occupation of the Arbor Wilds. Brady had made what seemed then as an inconsequential comment on the research of red lyrium. Josephine's reply about the difficulty of studying a living red templar informed Leliana's proposal: Limited freedom in exchange for Samson's cooperation with the currently stagnant progress on red lyrium research.

"You must trust me," Leliana said. "When he bites, it will be to everyone's benefit."

Anora nodded and stepped out of the way, allowing Leliana to enter the dark holding cell alone. Inside, Samson's figure was lit beneath faltering candlelight. His hand and foot were wrapped in blood speckled bandages. He watched as Leliana dragged a wooden chair across the floor and placed it in front of where he sat. Leliana sat down and crossed a leg over her knee, knitting her hands together atop of her lap, her eyes studying the weariness on Samson's face.

"This act of yours: The taunts, the lies. All to achieve a death wish. More specifically, for Brady to deal the killing blow." Leliana said.

Samson craned his chin. "Now why would I want that?"

"It's quite obvious, no? If he were to kill you, it would be in cold blood. An act of revenge. A thing like that may corrupt a heart. Tear someone apart from the inside out."

Samson curled his upper lip. "That would imply I believe him to be some paragon of good. And he is not. You see what he did to me. Your eyes keep trying to avoid it, but it is far too hard to ignore, isn't it?"

"I am sure he did not act unprovoked."

"Is that what you truly believe? Or does convincing yourself of that make it easier for you?" Samson said. Leliana held an unblinking stare into his crimson eyes. He scoffed and deflated into his seat.

"You believe the surface shows you enough about a man to judge him."

"Doesn't it?" Samson replied. "Are we not our actions?"

"I do not believe that. Not about Brady, and not about you."

Samson turned his head away. "Spare me the Chantry rhetoric, Nightingale."

"The chantry failed you," Leliana said.

Samson's eyes snapped forward, his brows knitted as he gazed at her with a frown. "You know not what you speak of."

"What they did to you and Maddox was wrong. You showed compassion for your charges and Meredith punished you unjustly for it."

"Stop."

"Even when you served Corypheus, you held that compassion. You held onto your heart."

"Enough."

"And you blame yourself for the fate of the red templars and for the fate of Maddox—"

"Dammit, I said enough!"

Leliana tented her hands. "The Inquisition murdered the men that believed in you. The men that followed you." Her eyes narrowed, "The Inquisitor cut through your men. He stopped you and your cause. You hate him."

"I envy him," Samson snapped, glaring into Leliana's widened eyes. His nose crinkled, "There's no pain on this world comparable to bleeding for a cause… only to find that you are the monster— the evil— you thought you fought against."

"You are no monster, Samson," Leliana said, shaking her head with a sigh. "Misguided, but not a monster."

"Corypheus showed more power to me than the Maker ever did. So, I supported him and his campaign. I lied— like an Orlesian. Rebelled like a Ferelden. I did no more evil than what already existed in this world. You all did the same. And yet—" Samson bared his teeth— "I am the one left damned."

"It is not too late. You still have a chance to repent," Leliana said. "Atone."

Samson's finger tapped against the armrest of his chair. His eyes darted away to stare into oblivion. After a moment, he murmured, "Have you seen what has happened to the people who have believed in me? They perished so I can continue this blighted life."

"Like Maddox."

"Don't speak of him like you understand. Your inquisitor killed him."

"Who told you that? Corypheus?"

"Does it matter?" he sneered. "It's the truth. Maddox was nothing but a faithful friend to me and he murdered him for it."

"The Inquisitor did not murder Maddox."

"Lies," he retorted with venom on his tongue. "That is all your type does."

Leliana leaned forward and spoke in an even tone, "Maddox took a lethal amount of poison. He remained true to you until the very end. The Inquisitor attempted to resuscitate, but it was too late."

"That matters not." Samson said. "If it was not for him, Maddox would not have been forced to take his own life. The Inquisitor is responsible— no matter how indirectly. He is responsible for Maddox's death." Samson sprung forward, "Maddox did not deserve such a fate. Not in Kirkwall and not in that blighted temple."

Leliana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and composed herself. "After Maddox perished, Brady carried his body out of the temple and returned him to Skyhold for a proper pyre."

Samson glanced into Leliana's eyes, his bottom lip quivering as his frown deepened. His voice quaked, "Still your tongue of these cruel lies."

"Look at me. This is no lie." Leliana continued, "Brady insisted his name be listed amongst our own: Inquisition soldiers, agents, and others who died for our cause." Leliana straightened. Her eyes stabbed into Samson. "That is the true nature of the man you insist is a monster."

Samson's crimson eyes watered and welled. As he shook his head, his eyelids shut and forced tears to crawl down his cheeks. His head fell with a whisper of the Maker's name.

"You have walked in the darkness for far too long." Leliana stretched out her hand and laid it on top of Samson's padded bandages. He glanced at her touch and sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. Leliana spoke slow, "I can offer you a deal: you assist the research of red lyrium with the possibility of supervised freedom in exchange for information about Florianne, Calpernia, and the dagger."

"I want to visit Maddox. Where his ashes rest." Samson said after a long silence. "I'll tell you everything if you promise me," he sniffled and rose his swollen eyes to Leliana. "You promise me, Leliana—"

Leliana nodded. "Of course."

A sullen smile appeared on his face. "Thank you."

Leliana remained. For an hour, she listened to Samson retell the story of his life. When he laughed, she laughed. When he cried, she offered comfort and kindness. Leliana's smallest shows of compassion made Samson light with a dim glow, like candlelight dancing in a window at the end of a rural road on a fog-filled night. His open wounds would take time to heal, but perhaps they ceased to bleed.

A knock on the dungeon door beckoned for Leliana's exit. They shared a look of disappointment. Once she reached the door, Samson called out: "Will I see you again?"

"Of course, Raleigh," she turned and said, leaving him with a final smile.

The one on his face remained long after her departure.


End file.
